


"If Wishes Were Horses"

by Ross



Category: Emergency! (TV 1972)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ross/pseuds/Ross
Summary: At one point or another, every person finds him—or her—self wishing that they could somehow go back in time and redirect a certain course of events. Unfortunately, life rarely, if ever, makes allowances for ‘do overs’.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author' note:** This is the sequel to EMERGENCY! Book One: "There's Just No 'Getting Away From It All". In order to better understand the continuing storyline, you may want to read the first book before beginning this one. :)

 **Disclaimer:** The characters from Station 51 and Rampart General belong to Mark VII. They have been borrowed strictly for fun—and not for fortune.

**EMERGENCY!**

**Book Two**

" **If Wishes Were Horses"**

**By Ross7**

**Chapter One**

" _If wishes were horses,_  
Beggars would ride.  
If turnips were watches,  
I would wear one by my side."

— _Author Unknown_

"Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!" John Gage enthusiastically—and most energetically—exclaimed, as he came bursting into L.A. County Fire Station 51's locker room the following sunny a.m..

Chet Kelly, who had accompanied his chum into the room, stared at their stunned shift-mates for a few moments and then accusingly inquired, "You guys been workin' hard? Or, hardly workin'?"

There followed much backslapping, handshaking and wisecracking, as Roy, Mike and Marco welcomed their fellow firefighters—and friends—back to the station.

Gage grinned, seeing that 'the guys' were all staring at his _hairy_ upper lip.

DeSoto, especially, wasn't quite sure _what_ to make of, either the mustache _on_ , or the amazing transformation _in_ , his—recently deathly-ill and bed-ridden—best buddy. "Johnny, you look… _great_!"

"Thanks! I feel _great_."

Seeing as how Mike and Marco had struck up a separate conversation with the no-longer-missing member of their Engine crew, John struck one of his own up with his partner. "So-o…How many different replacements have they sent over for me?"

"Ah, let's see…Wright was here the first week. Potter was here the second week. Franklin was here the third week. Brice was here last week. I don't know who's next. I sure hope it's someone I can get along with…"

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll get along just fine. Who's been replacing Chet?"

"Pete Hanson has been here the whole two weeks." Roy couldn't seem to stop smiling. "It sure is _good_ to see you again. When did you guys get back?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

DeSoto's smile did a disappearing act. "You must be tired from all that traveling. Shouldn't you be _home_ … _resting_ … _in bed_?"

"Heck, no! I'm good ta go!" Gage enthusiastically declared, with wave of his arms and yet another _hairy_ grin. "And, I can _assure_ you that my next replacement **will be** someone you can get along with."

Kelly caught the paramedic's comment and shot him an 'oh brother' look, but remained silent.

Roy had found Johnny's first statement _slightly_ reassuring and his second somewhat intriguing. "What? Have you heard who they're sending over?…Who is it?" he further inquired, following his friend's nod.

"See if you can guess…"

DeSoto's jaw dropped open. "Do you realize how many paramedics there are in this county?"

"Apparently, not nearly enough," Gage grumbled beneath his breath, but then prompted his partner again. "C'mon. Guess…"

Roy exhaled a sigh of resignation. "Do I know him?"

"Extremely well."

"Have I worked with him before?"

"Definitely!"

"A lot?"

"A whole lot!"

DeSoto winced. "Not another week with Super Medic? Craig Brice?"

"No. It's not Brice."

"It has to be Brice. He's the only guy I've worked with a whole lot."

"The only?"

"Well…except for you. But, _you_ don't count."

John arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" He crossed over to and opened _his_ locker. "Brice was wearing my helmet again, wasn't he."

Roy stepped up beside him. "Yeah. Why? How could you tell?"

"I can see myself in it. Brice is a great _polisher_." Gage set his shiny headgear down on the bench in front of his locker and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?" his partner nervously inquired.

"I'm taking my shirt off."

"I can _see_ that. But, _why_ are you taking your shirt off?"

"Because a long-sleeved shirt would look 'tacky' under a short-sleeved uniform."

DeSoto's jaw dropped again. " _You-ou_?!"

Gage rested a hand on his shocked associate's shoulder. "I knew—if I gave you enough hints—that you could guess."

"B-But…you can't come back yet! What about your temporary leave of absence?"

"Turns out, two weeks was temporary enough."

Roy's smile made a spectacular reappearance. "This is really on the level? You can really come back to work?"

Gage finished buttoning his light blue uniform shirt and gave his happy pal a grin and another definite nod.

"All right!" DeSoto declared, looking and sounding positively ecstatic. He gave Gage's back a few more congratulatory slaps and his right hand another hearty and heartfelt shake. "It's _great_ to have you **back** …Partner!"

"It's great to **be** _back_ …Partner!" John announced, sounding equally jubilant. He slipped his blue jeans off and his uniform slacks on. "I really missed working with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The pensive paramedic pulled his boots on and pinned his badge and department nameplate in place. Then he threaded his belt through the loops in his navy blue britches and attached his paramedic's assessment kit to it. Gage got his shirt's tails tucked in and began fumbling with his belt's buckle. "A month is a loooong time."

DeSoto finished changing and shot his friend a solemn sidewise glance. "You have no idea what a loooong time is, until you've worked a shift with Craig Brice."

John sniggered delightedly and finally finished snugging up and fastening his bootlaces. The fireman then bent down to snatch his _glistening_ black helmet up from the bench.

Captain Hank Stanley came strolling into the room. "Hey, Kelly! Good ta see yah, pal! Welcome back!"

"Thanks, Cap!" Chet took and shook his boss' extended hand. "I brought you some rain."

"I appreciate that. I truly do. But it barely settled the dust. The Department should probably take up a collection and send you back for some more."

John stepped up beside the 'rain man'.

Hank shot the new arrival a strange stare. "Say, Chester, who's your friend?" he teased. The Captain cocked his head and squinted. "Wait…he looks _vaguely_ familiar. Ga-age? Is that _you_ , hiding behind that cookie duster?"

The guys snickered.

Gage grinned sheepishly back at his boss. "Yeah, Cap. It's me."

Stanley carefully patted the paramedic on the back and even more gingerly shook his proffered palm. "When headquarters called, just now, I couldn't believe it! So, I had ta come and see for myself…" he paused to give the still-grinning member of his crew a closer scrutiny. This was most definitely _not_ the same young man he'd last seen lying on his backside in a hospital bed just two, short weeks ago. No sir-ree!

The mustache was not the only noticeable change in John Gage. The spring was back in the paramedic's step, the sparkle was back in his eyes and his body, literally, exuded energy!

No wonder the doctors had cleared him for duty. "Welcome back, John!"

Gage exhaled a silent sigh of relief. He could tell by Stanley's smile that he'd passed his careful inspection. "Thanks, Cap! It's great to **be** back!"

"You look fabulous!" his Captain continued.

"I feel fabulous."

Hank's smile of approval broadened into a grin. "What d'yah say we all go grab some coffee, and the two of you can regale the rest of us with the 'chilling' accounts of your 'icy' escapades…"

The men fell in behind their Captain and followed him out of the locker room…across their fire station's **empty** apparatus bay…and into the rec' and dining area.

* * *

There, resting on the kitchen counter, was a tall, gaily-wrapped cardboard box.

Everyone seemed surprised to see it setting there—with the exception of John and Chet.

"What's that?" Marco wondered. "A souvenir of Minnesota?"

"Michigan," Kelly corrected him. "We went to Michigan."

Henry had abandoned his couch cushion and come growling into the kitchen to greet the two previously missing members of Station 51's A-Shift crew.

"Hey, Kid!" Chet stooped to the grumbling Basset Hound's level. "Did yah miss us?"

John joined him and they both received warm, wet, growly greetings. The paramedic stared down at his now slightly slobbered on helmet, looking pleased.

"Henry missed us," Kelly translated. "He says he's glad we're back."

"Oh yeah?" John looked somewhat dubious. "If he's so doggoned happy ta see us, then why is he still growling?"

The 'dog whisperer' got stiffly to his feet. "Ah, he's just sore cuz we didn't take him with."

His traveling companion looked even more skeptical and dropped the helmet in his hands onto the kitchen floor, in an attempt to scuff it up a little.

Roy could no longer contain his curiosity. He turned to his fellow paramedic and asked, point blank, "What's in the box?"

His no-longer-stooping partner set his retrieved headgear down on the table and replied with a couple of quick questions of his own. "You know how we're always accusing one another of stealing each other's coffee? So that, by the end of the shift, six guys have dirtied a dozen different cups?"

The guys glanced thoughtfully at one another, and then nodded.

"Well, Chet and I have come up with the perfect solution!"

The corners of Mike Stoker's mouth started moving upwards. "Styrofoam cups?"

Gage gave the now wryly-grinning guesser a 'ha ha ha' glance.

"Go ahead, Cap!" Kelly encouraged. "Open it."

Hank peeled the festive wrapping paper from the top of the package and courageously lifted the box's lid. He raised his bushy eyebrows, as well, and whistled softly.

All eyes watched as their Captain carefully extracted the container's contents—a beautiful wooden tree with six, large, ceramic coffee mugs hanging on it.

Stanley rested the heavy mug tree down on the counter.

Gage took one of the cups and held it up. "The mugs have our names on them. See? This is Marco's," he pointed out and passed Lopez his personalized coffee cup.

C-A-P had been printed across one of the fire engine red cups in big, bold, black letters. Stanley stared down at the mug in amazement. "Where did you ever find these?"

Chet grinned. "You might say we had them _tailor-made_."

John groaned at the Irishman's pun. "The artist's name is Taylor…Vickie Ann Taylor. We 'commissioned' her to make these for us."

"Not only is this _gorgeous_ girl an amazing ceramic artist," Kelly promptly—and proudly—continued, "she's also an _incredible_ skier!"

"What d'yah say we try them out?" their Captain proposed.

The men rinsed their new mugs out in the sink and then crossed over to the Station's brand new Bunn automatic drip coffee-maker.

"New coffee-maker…new coffee mugs. Ahhh, life is good," Hank Stanley lightly assessed as he and his _complete_ crew took their seats at their little family's rather large kitchen table.

* * *

One informal roll call, two carafes of Bunn coffee—and close to an hour of regaling—later, the men finally heard their fire station's heavy garage door start to grind its way open.

Idling engines were silenced. Truck doors were slammed. Boot heels shuffled across the parking bay.

"Must be nice," one of C-shift's paramedics mumbled, as he stumbled wearily past the day room's open doorway.

"Ron," Hank acknowledged, as C-shift's Captain poked his head into the room.

"Hank," Ron Graham greeted him right back. "I see you and your men are conducting one of those close-quarter MTM drills," Stanley's counter-part teased.

The two Captains exchanged grins.

Then, Graham was gone.

It wasn't two seconds later, the Station's tones sounded.

" **Squad 51** …"

John and Roy set their mugs down and slid their chairs back.

DeSoto tossed his helmet on and started trotting toward their truck.

Gage snatched his still-glistening headgear up and followed his friend out into the garage.

The guys on the engine crew got up to go see them off.

* * *

Stanley stepped out, to answer the call. Hank watched, in confusion, as Roy climbed into the Squad and then sat there—alone. "Where's John?"

DeSoto stared at the empty seat beside him and shrugged. "I thought he was right behind me."

"He was!"

"Cap?! You're gonna wanna see this!" Mike Stoker suddenly predicted, from somewhere just out of sight.

"Kelly, answer the call!" Hank ordered.

* * *

The Captain stepped around the back of the Squad and up to where Stoker was standing.

His engineer pointed, wordlessly, to the concrete beneath their feet.

John Gage was lying face down on the garage floor, on the passenger's side of the Squad…doing push-ups.

Stanley stared, in disbelief, as John did yet another push-up. "Ga-age?"

"Yeah, Cap?" the paramedic breathlessly pondered, without stopping.

"That was the alarm. Remember the alarm?"

"Yeah, Cap."

"Aren't you going with Roy?"

"Yeah, Cap."

"Well, then, _what in blue blazes are you doing on the floor?!_ "

"I'm breaking up…the automatic workings...of conditioning...I figure I kin do…ten push-ups…and still get into the Squad…before you hand Roy the call slip." John completed his last push-up, picked his helmet—and himself—up off the floor, yanked the truck's passenger door open, and slipped into his seat.

As if to prove his point, just then, Chet passed Roy the call slip.

Gage pulled his helmet's chinstrap up, snugly, and smiled, smugly.

"We'll talk about this some more," his unimpressed Captain promised. "Just as soon as you get back," he sternly added and shoved the truck's open door shut.

The smile left John's face.

The Squad left the parking bay and pulled out onto the street, lights flashing and siren blaring.

Stanley just stood there, slowly shaking his numb noggin.

Lopez and Kelly stepped up to their still somewhat stunned boss.

"Man!" Marco exclaimed. "That was **really** _strange_."

"Yeah," the Captain numbly agreed. Something suddenly occurred to him and he perked up a bit. "It **was** , wasn't it." Hank smiled and started heading for his office.

It was kind a' nice to have things back to **ab** normal around there.

**TBC**

**Author's note:** MTM stands for Mug-To-Mouth.


	2. Chapter Two

"If Wishes Were Horses"

**Chapter Two**

Gage glanced down at the little slip of paper in his hands. He'd been too busy talking to the Captain, to take note of the call address. "Uhhh…Take a right two blocks up. We can follow Levine all the way over to Alameda."

DeSoto nodded and immediately signaled a lane change. "Back there…in Michigan," he tentatively began, speaking loud enough to be heard over their rescue squad's wailing siren, "if you hadn't received certification in time…" he shot his partner an anxious glance, "what would you have done?"

"Watch out for that green car on your left," his navigator warned, as they approached the next intersection. "I don't think they see us."

Roy dodged the green car as easily as his buddy had dodged his question, and turned right, onto Levine. "What would you have done?" he tenaciously re-inquired

John contemplated his partner's repeated question over for a few blocks. "I would have…done _exactly_ what **you** would have done," he finally 'fessed up' and flashed his inquisitive friend a sly, slightly askew smile.

DeSoto considered the dire implications of his pal's evasive answer over for a few moments. Damn! Just as he'd suspected. He'd nearly lost his paramedic partner. "Remind me to send Dr. Hunter and Mr. Jandron some thank you notes," he lightly requested and gave his fellow firefighter—and best friend—an appreciative glance.

The two men locked gazes for an instant.

Gage looked equally grateful to find himself still seated beside his best buddy, and his sly smile slowly graduated into a wry grin.

* * *

It took five more minutes for the pair to arrive at 411 South Alameda Drive.

DeSoto pulled up to the palm-tree-lined street's curb, threw their truck's tranny into PARK and then killed both its engine and its siren. He was just about to open his door, when an extremely distraught young woman came barreling around the Squad's front bumper.

"Please…hurry!" she frantically requested, but then stood there, effectively blocking the fireman's exit. "It's…my son! He's…too afraid…to come down!"

Gage reached the hyperventilating lady's side in seconds and ushered her away from the door, so his partner could climb out. "All right, mam. Now, why don't you just take some nice, deep breaths," he calmly advised, "and tell us where your son is."

The boy's mother was still breathing too hard to speak, so she simply pointed to one of the street's tall, stately palm trees.

John took the woman in tow and the three of them headed over to the tree in question.

* * *

The two firemen stood at the base of the tall tree's trunk and gazed up into the spoke-like branches of its lush green canopy.

A rather brisk breeze was causing the tree to sway. Suddenly, from over 45 feet in the air, a petrified child's cherubic face appeared amidst the palm's fluttering fronds.

DeSoto whistled softly. " _How_ did he ever get up there?"

Gage had an even better question. " _Why_ did he ever go up there?"

"It's all… **your** fault!" the child's panting parent exclaimed, and aimed an accusingly glare at each of them.

The boy's rescuers exchanged looks of confusion and incredulity. But 'satisfying their curiosity' was not their number one priority at the moment. The two men turned and started trotting toward their truck.

"I'll grab the gear," Roy volunteered.

"Right!" John acknowledged. "And I'll grab a barf bag."

* * *

The rescuers carried two sets of climbing spurs on their truck. One set had inch-long spikes, for scaling bark-less utility poles, and the other had two-inch steel spurs—or 'gaffs'—for climbing trees. Roy pulled the longer spikes, a climbing harness and a child's life-belt from one of their equipment compartments and went trotting back over to the tree.

His partner pulled an 'urp' sack from another open compartment and then headed back, as well, in the direction of the little boy's hyperventilating mother.

* * *

"Ma-am, I want you to breathe into this bag for me, okay?" the dark-haired paramedic requested.

The young lady looked indignant. "I…will…not!"

"You're hyperventilating. Your respiration rate is through the roof. We need to get your breathing slowed down, before you pass out on us."

The woman reluctantly latched onto the proffered paper sack and, even more begrudgingly, began breathing into it.

"That's it," Gage calmly encouraged. "Nice…deep…slow breaths."

DeSoto finished donning his climbing harness. The rescuer then dropped to one knee and began attaching one of the two gaff stirrups to the heel of his left boot. He got that climbing spur securely fastened and then quickly shifted to his other knee. In no time, the matching spike had been buckled to the inside of his right ankle. Roy stepped up to the stately palm, and secured his slide rope to its trunk. "I'm all set," he determined. "What's your son's name?"

"Jamie. Jameson Alexander Tyson III," the boy's mommy replied, and was relieved to find that her breathing had already returned nearer to normal.

Roy exchanged a thoughtful glance with his partner. "Jamie," he further determined and began his climb.

* * *

As he ascended, the blond-haired paramedic cautiously maintained at least three points of contact with the tree's trunk at all times: a hand, his slide rope, and a spike. The rescuer was particularly careful to twist his heels inward before ramming his climbing spurs against the side of the tree. By keeping his heels turned inward, the curved spikes could get a much better bite in the bark of the palm as he stepped up.

* * *

"They were playing **firemen** ," Mrs. Tyson annoyedly announced. "They said they needed someone to rescue. So my son volunteered to be their 'victim'."

Her son's three young playmates were huddled just a few yards away, gazing guiltily down at the sidewalk.

The irate woman paused to give them a highly perturbed glare. "They neglected to tell him that they had no intentions of **really** rescuing him!"

John saw the forlorn looks on the faces of Jamie's young friends. "Hey…Don't worry. We'll get your 'victim' down for you."

"Don't you _dare_ encourage them!" their victim's mommy warned. "Ever since they saw a couple of paramedics rescue someone at the shopping center last week, they've had **firemen** on the their brains! That's all they talk about!" She gave the paramedic another accusing glare and then pointed up into the air. "Just look at what you've gotten my son into!"

The dark-haired fireman heaved a heavy sigh. "Yeah. Well…if **we** got him up there, I'm sure **we** can get him back down. So take it easy, and just keep breathing into the bag for me, okay?"

* * *

The blond-haired fireman finally reached the little boy's level. "Hi there, Jamie. My name's Roy. I want you to hold very still for me, so I can slip this belt around you, okay? Think you can do that for me?"

Jamie was waaaaay too terrified to speak. So the boy blinked his wide eyes and simply nodded—once.

Roy secured the life-belt to the child's waist and then clipped it back on to his climbing harness. "All right, Jamie, you can let go of the tree now…and then, I want you to wrap your arms around my neck."

The petrified kid failed to comply.

So the paramedic pried the child's white-knuckled appendages from the palm's swaying branches and placed them around his neck. "Okay, Jamie…I'm gonna take you down now…nice…and slow."

As promised, their descent from the towering palm tree was both nice…and slow.

* * *

As soon as the pair came within arms' reach, John latched onto Jamie and unclipped the kid's life-belt from his partner's climbing harness. He placed their young victim's posterior down on the grass at the base of the palm's trunk and began his IPS.

Jamie's still-distraught mommy attempted to comfort her still-scared-to-death son.

Roy felt his feet finally hit the ground and exhaled an audible sigh of relief. The fireman unfastened his slide rope from the tree and began removing his climbing gear.

His partner proceeded to perform a quick, but thorough, assessment of their now whimpering patient's physical condition.

The little boy's bare forearms bore some minor abrasions from coming into contact with the tree's rough bark. But, other than that, the child checked out just fine!

Gage gave the boy, and his mommy, a reassuring grin and then shifted his attention to Jamie's playmates.

The children were still standing there on the sidewalk, staring up at their role models—in awe.

Mrs. Tyson didn't want him to encourage them.

But John didn't want to **dis** courage them, either. "Your friend is going to be just fine," he assured the wanna-be rescuers. "But you kids have got to be more careful. Being a fireman is a _very_ **dangerous** job. It is most definitely **not** a _game_. Jamie could have been killed, or seriously injured. If you _really_ wanna do the work that **we** do, you need to study hard, get good grades and graduate from high school. And **then** , if you decide you _still_ want to rescue people and save lives and property, you can apply to the Fire Academy. Okay?"

All four of the children's heads bobbed up and down. Heck, the fireman's audience was so enamored with him, he could have told them they had to eat nothing but broccoli and spinach for an entire month and they, undoubtedly, would have nodded their compliance.

Gage glanced up, to see if his partner had anything he wanted to add.

Roy flashed his lecturing friend a slight smile and remained silent.

The Big Kid would make a fine father…someday.

Jamie's mommy pulled her somewhat recovered son to his feet. "Jameson Alexander Tyson III, you march into that house _right now_ and go straight to your room!"

The boy did an about face and obediently began marching off.

Mrs. Tyson gave the two rescue guys a grateful grin. "Thank you, gentlemen!"

The firemen flashed the woman back some 'you're welcome' smiles, and began carting their equipment back over to their truck.

* * *

The rescue guys got their gear stowed away and then climbed back into their squad.

* * *

Gage reached for the rescue truck's dash-mounted radio's mic'. "L.A., Squad 51. We're clear at the scene and returning to quarters. You can cancel the ambulance."

" **10-4, Squad 51…"** the dispatcher promptly came back.

John replaced the mic' and the two men just sat there for awhile, in thoughtful silence.

"When I was a kid," Gage finally spoke up, "we used to play 'Indians and Cowboys'. I mean, _that_ was **the** thing. And now, kids are playing paramedics." He turned his amazed gaze toward his partner. "Roy, **we** have _arrived_."

"When I was a kid, we used to play 'Cowboys and Indians', too," DeSoto quietly confessed. "But we didn't use **real** bullets and arrows. We used to 'pretend' a lot. We used to use our 'imaginations'. If you ask me, kids these days 'play' a little too realistically. And, if they're going to be _that_ realistic, I'd just as soon they played something else." He suddenly envisioned them being called upon to treat a 'scalping' victim—and shuddered.

"When you put it that way, I guess we should be glad they weren't realistically playing just firemen. They prob'ly would a' set half the block on fire."

The firemen swapped a pair of highly relieved glances.

DeSoto finally flicked their truck's flashing overheads off. The driver then ignited its engine and eased it away from the curb. Something else suddenly occurred to him. "What does Stacey think of your mustache?"

"She hasn't seen it…yet."

"Wasn't _she_ supposed to pick you guys up at the airport?"

"She was sick yesterday and couldn't make it. So she had her roommate drive us home. I tried to see her last night. But she made me stay away. Said she was afraid I might catch some of her _germs_. I called—first thing this morning. No one answered. She must be feeling better, if she went in to work. Right?"

DeSoto flashed his apprehensive associate a sympathetic smile. "When we get back to the Station, you could prob'ly call Headquarters and find out—for sure. She must be there, by now."

Gage gave his helpful friend a grateful grin. "Ri-ight!"

* * *

The paramedics returned to their quarters.

John stepped out into the garage and started heading for the pay phone in the corner of the fire station's rec' room.

* * *

The paramedic pulled a coin from his pants pocket and snatched up the phone's receiver. He deposited his dime in the slot and then dialed a number from memory. "Yes. Personnel Department, please. Extension two-two-six."

The connection had no sooner been made, when the claxons sounded.

**"Station 51…"**

"Sorry. Gotta run," he apologized, and promptly hung up.

* * *

Hank Stanley reached the call station just as John was re-entering the garage. "Nix the push-ups, Gage!"

"Right, Cap!" the paramedic glumly agreed, as he went trotting around the rear of their rescue truck.

"… **woman stuck to a fence,"** the dispatcher proceeded to announce, " **at the Community Park…1248 South Hollander Road…Cross-street: Silverton…the Community Park…One-two-four-eight South Hollander…ambulance is responding…Time out: 09:49."**

The two rescuers slid into their seats and then glanced at one another. _Child stuck in a palm tree…woman stuck to a park fence_. The pair could sort a' see a 'pattern' developing for their current tour of duty.

"Station 51. KMG—365," the Captain calmly acknowledged and passed them their copy of the call slip.

"Hang a right," Gage advised.

DeSoto gave his navigator an appreciative nod and pulled ahead.

* * *

Both emergency vehicles exited the fire station, turned to the right and then went racing off down the street, with their warning lights flashing and their sirens wailing.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter Three

" **If Wishes Were Horses"**

**Chapter Three**

1248 South Hollander Road, less than six minutes later...

Stoker and DeSoto slowed their respective rigs to a halt and sirens were silenced.

Their victim was not readily visible.

There was a vehicle entrance to the Community Park but its gates were chained closed.

John jumped out of the Squad, snatched a pair of bolt cutters from one of its side compartments and removed the obstruction with a single 'snip'. He threw the gates open wide, the forcible-entry tool back into its storage space, and himself back into his seat.

Both trucks proceeded into the park.

* * *

Six sets of eyes scanned the chain-link fence that surrounded the ball fields, tennis courts, and picnic areas. But there didn't seem to be a 'stuck' soul in sight.

* * *

As they approached the park's playground, a plump elderly woman approached them, carrying a bawling baby in one arm and a yapping Yorkie in the other.

The firetrucks' forward progress was halted again and the Captain dropped to the ground. "Mam, you wouldn't happen to know anything about _a woman stuck to a fence_ , would you?"

"Yes!" the woman breathlessly blurted. "I'm Jeanette Quinley. My husband and I were taking Mickey here," she raised the appendage with the pooch, "for his morning walkies, when we heard someone screaming for help." The lady turned around and started heading back towards the playground, taking all six firemen in tow.

John retrieved the bolt cutters before he turned to go.

"Seems that Allison here," their guide hefted the sobbing two-year-old, "had rolled her ball under the fence. Darn fool kids must've dug a crawl space under it, so they wouldn't have to take the long way around. Anyways, when Allison's mommy tried to reach for the ball, she got stuck. But **that** is the _least_ of her problems."

Just beyond the swing sets and monkey bars, was a clump of bushes.

As they stepped around the bushes, an empty stroller appeared…along with a set of bare legs. The legs were attached to a very pregnant lady in a bright yellow sundress, lying face down on the ground, right beneath the fence. The woman couldn't go forward, on account of her bulging belly, and she couldn't retreat, because the back of her dress was caught on the twisted, and razor-sharp, wire joints on the bottom of the chain link.

"Gentlemen, this is Katherine Nesmith. Mrs. Nesmith is expecting… _twins_. She says her water broke about an hour ago and her contractions are less than a minute apart."

The paramedics exchanged an anxious glance, and then promptly went into action.

Gage started snipping the wires that were keeping their victim captive.

DeSoto dropped to the ground beside the lady in labor. "Cap!" he called back over his shoulder, "we're gonna need the O.B. Kit, the Bio-phone, the Drug box, some blankets and the O **2**!"

"Right!" their Captain acknowledged. "Chet, Marco, grab the gear! Mike, take the engine back to the entrance and direct the ambulance in!"

His crew nodded and trotted off to fulfill their assigned tasks.

* * *

Moments later, Lopez and Kelly came jogging back up with the requested equipment.

A final snip and their victim was freed from the fence.

Roy contacted Rampart.

A bright yellow plastic drop sheet was spread out upon the ground.

Gage scooped the mother-to-be up in his arms and carried her over to it. He then did his level best to help the woman get comfortable.

Mrs. Nesmith ended up on her back, knees bent and legs spread apart. She was sweating profusely and there was a pink-tinged stain on the front of her sundress, probably caused by the mucus plug being displaced at the start of labor. Their pregnant patient's hands were shaking, and she was constantly grunting in pain and gasping.

Cap had the guys stand with their backs to the scene, hands draped back over their shoulders, holding a string of blankets up for a privacy curtain.

John opened their OB kit and emptied one of the delivery kit's sterile packages of its contents.

He used the bottle of sanitizer to clean his hands and then carefully donned some sterile gloves. Sterile towels were draped—everywhere.

The remaining 4x4 gauze pads, bulb syringe, umbilical cord clamps, sanitary pads, baby blankets and infant O2 mask were set aside.

'Calm the mother. Calm yourself.' "I'm John. He's Roy."

"Kathy," Mrs. Nesmith breathlessly came back.

Introductions out of the way, the paramedic covered their patient's lower extremities with a sterile sheet, also for privacy.

Roy took the mother-to-be's vitals and passed them on to Rampart.

Doctor Early ordered and IV and O2.

"All right, Kathy…we've got some oxygen for you, here," Roy announced and applied a nasal canula. "What's your due date?"

"One week from tomorrow," Kathy relievedly replied, as her breathing became a little less labored. "My OB is Dr. James Quince."

"A week shy of full term," Roy reported, upon establishing the IV. "James Quince is her doctor."

John observed that, since their arrival on scene, there had been no breaks in the woman's strong contractions. "Contractions are continuous and extremely forceful."

The paramedics exchanged a knowing glance.

It appeared they were in for a precipitous delivery.***

"Are you familiar…with Lamaze?" Kathy gasped through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Mam. I am," John replied. "Sat, solo, through 12 grueling hours of Lamaze classes. Everyone kept asking how far along I was."

The woman grinned through a grimace.

"I see you are focusing on your breathing technique for labor. And, let's not forget the 'How to communicate with your healthcare team so your needs are met' part."

Another grin, another grimace.

"This is so…embarrassing," the woman breathlessly bemoaned.

"Having a couple of strangers here, instead of your husband or your OB doctor, like you planned?"

The woman nodded.

"Believe me, it's just as awkward for us. You know that term, _There's a bun in the oven_?"

Another nod.

"Well, that's the way we try to think of it. An _oven_. And, right now, the doctor wants me to check the _oven_."

"To see if the _oven door_ is open enough to get the _buns_ out?" Kathy gasped with another gritted teeth grin.

Gage grinned back. "You got it!" He ducked under the privacy sheet and…measured the _oven door.***_

"10 centimeters," he relievedly passed along to his partner. Surprisingly, the cervix was also fully effaced. In fact, he could feel the first baby's head in the birth canal. "With crowning."

"Things sure seem to be…happening fast!" Kathy blurted, between rapid, shallow breaths.

"THEY say, the second time is 'supposed' to be _easier_ ," John relayed.

"Faster, maybe," the grimacing woman breathlessly conceded. "But, I don't know about _easier_ …" The constant contractions were taking their toll.

'Make that definitely _faster_!' John silently corrected, as the crowning head suddenly appeared. He grabbed a sterile towel and supported the baby's head as it delivered. He used his free right hand to tear the amniotic sac open and push it away from the baby's face.

Another push and he exhaled an audible sigh of relief. The umbilical cord wasn't wrapped around the baby's neck.

The baby turned onto its side and the delivery of the rest of the body followed spontaneously.

Roy made a note of the first baby's birth time.

John caught the emerging baby boy with both hands and kept its head at the level of the mother's vagina. The new arrival was tenderly placed between the woman's legs, so he could begin suctioning the mucus from the infant's nose and mouth with the bulb syringe.

The baby wasn't crying yet. So John flicked the soles of his tiny little feet and gently rubbed its back to stimulate breathing.

Seconds later, the first cry came out.

Gage couldn't help but grin. "Congratulations, Kathy! Allison has a new baby brother!"

Respirations were spontaneous at a rate of 43 per minute. John wiped the blood-tinged mucus from the baby's face with the 4x4 gauze pads.

The umbilical cord had stopped pulsating, so he clamped it off in two places. Next, he cut the cord between the two clamps. A piece of gauze was loosely tied around the first baby's left ankle, just in case its twin turned out to be identical.

Finally, he carefully picked the new bundle up and gently handed him off to his partner, so a more complete set of vitals could be taken.

Just in time! The second baby's head was already visible!

John barely managed to get a fresh pair of sterile gloves on.

It was like an 'instant replay' of the first birth.

"Congratulations, again, Kathy! You have another new son! And, he's the spittin' image of his older brother."

Kathy exhaled a long, exhausted sigh of relief. The young woman was completely wrung out and yet overjoyed, at the same time.

While his partner worked on the newest arrival, Roy, who had handed the firstborn off to their Captain, gathered a fresh set of vitals on their Mommy.

There was no hemorrhaging, and the physically spent woman was now breathing easy.

"Ready?" John asked.

Kathy nodded and both of the tiny, blanket-wrapped bundles were placed in her open arms. "Oh…they're beautiful! Thank you, gentlemen!"

"You did all the work," Roy reminded her.

"The second time **was** faster," Kathy, who couldn't seem to tear her tearing vision away from her two new fussing sons, finally looked up. "And so was the _third_!"

Gage and DeSoto glanced at one another and grinned.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, at the hospital on follow-up…

51's paramedics were standing in front of the ER's Nurse's Station, restocking supplies.

Dr. Joe Early joined them there and made a surprising announcement.

John's jaw dropped. "You're joking!"

Joe shook his head.

Roy was also is a state of utter disbelief. "And her husband went along with it?"

"Actually, it was **his** idea."

"John Nesmith…" Gage whispered. "John is such a _common_ name."

"Hey, a lot of very famous people were 'Johns'," Joe countered.

"Yeah. Take 'John Wilkes Booth', for instance," his partner teased.

John cringed, but then looked smug. "You don't have that problem, do you. In fact, the only other 'Roy' I can think of is 'Roy Rodgers'."

Roy rested the palms of his hands on the desk and looked pensive. "What about Roy Orbison…Roy Clark…and _Roy_ Nesmith?" He turned to his buddy. "Maybe we can talk them out of it?"

Early gave his silver-haired head another shake. "Not a chance! Anyways, I've already filled out their birth certificates."

The still somewhat stunned pair picked up their supplies and began heading off down the hall.

"Poor kids," Early heard Gage grumble, and was forced to grin.

* * *

Roy backed the squad into its parking bay.

The two men exited their rescue truck and started heading for the kitchen…and their new coffeemaker.

* * *

"How are they doing?" their Captain inquired, as the pair stepped into the station's rec' room.

The question caught his engine crew's attention and they riveted their eyes and ears on the new arrivals, anxious to hear the answer.

Roy grabbed _their_ mugs and poured them both some coffee.

The two of them then took some seats at the table.

"Little _Johnny_ and little _Roy_ Nesmith are doing just fine," DeSoto assured his concerned shiftmates.

"And so is their amazing Mommy," Gage added. "Man! Talk about stamina!"

Their Captain's right eyebrow arched. "They named the babies after the two of you?"

'The two of them' nodded…reluctantly.

"That…that's quite an honor," the amazed officer had to admit.

Kelly's mustache twitched—twice. "I just thought a' something. What if she would a' had triplets?" he insincerely proposed. " _Hank_ Nesmith."

"Or quadruplets?" his Captain countered. " _Chet_ Nesmith."

"Or quintuplets," Stoker continued. " _Marco_ Nesmith."

"Or sextuplets," Lopez played right along. " _Mike_ Nesmith."

"I don't think she had **that** much stamina," John assured them, but then suddenly looked thoughtful. "Mike Nesmith…Mike Nesmith…Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"Maybe," Stoker suggested, "because he was a Monkee."

"A **monkey**?" John found the engineer's remark most amusing. "I don't know any **monkeys**."

"The Monkees were a musical group," Mike patiently explained, "popular back in the mid-sixties."

"Oh yeah?" Everyone, but the engineer, caught the mischievous glint in Gage's mirth-filled eyes. "Name one of their songs. Maybe I've heard it."

"Last Train to Clarksville."

"Nope. Doesn't ring any bells. How does it go?"

" _Take the last train to Clarksville—_ " Mike managed to get out, before finally realizing the paramedic just might be attempting to make a monkey out of **him**. "Nice try," he conceded, over the sound of subdued snickers.

The Captain's gaze suddenly riveted upon his paramedics. "Before the two of you get another run, I want you to know that I have been giving the… _push-up problem_ some serious consideration, and I think I've come up with the perfect solution. John, why don't **you** _drive_ the Squad for awhile. That ought a' ' _break up the automatic workings of conditioning_ '."

It was more of an order than a suggestion.

The Squad's occupants exchanged a pair of thoughtful glances.

But, before they could comment, the claxons sounded.

" **Squad 51** … **man with something stuck in his jaw** —" the dispatcher began.

All six firefighters' eyebrows rose upon hearing that.

Stanley stood and followed the requested rescuers into the garage.

* * *

Hank stepped up to the call station and watched as both of his paramedics stepped up to their rescue truck's passenger door.

"Sorry," John sheepishly said, pulling his hand out from under his partner's. "Force of habit."

"Squad 51. KMG-365," the Captain acknowledged.

Gage trotted around the front of the truck and slipped in behind the wheel just in time to take their copy of the call's address from his Captain. He passed the slip of paper on to his partner and then turned the key, igniting the Squad's engine. "Right, or left?" the Squad's new driver requested of its new navigator.

DeSoto looked somewhat sheepish, himself. "I, uh, forgot to look," he confessed, and belatedly began reaching for their street map book. "Left!" Roy finally replied, following a frantic search of its pages.

The rescue vehicle pulled out of the apparatus bay and headed off down the street in the suggested direction, lights flashing and siren wailing.

Stanley saw his second-in-command standing in the rec' room's doorway, sadly shaking his head. "What?"

"If it ain't broke," the engineer simply said, "don't fix it." ***

**TBC**

Author's notes:

***Normal labor follows a specific pattern with a break in between contractions. Precipitous delivery contractions are stronger and follow each other without a break. Precipitate delivery refers to a delivery which results after an unusually rapid labor (combined 1st stage and second stage duration is under 2hrs) and culminates in the rapid, spontaneous expulsion of the infant.

***Since the opening to the cervix is not visible from the outside, dilation must be measured by inserting one's fingers into the vagina. Extremely awkward, indeed!

*** Mike is quoting businessman Burt Lance, the guy who first said, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.'

(***Info gleaned from the web.)


	4. Chapter Four

"If Wishes Were Horses"

**Chapter Four**

1214 East Odovero Drive seven minutes later…

John pulled up and parked.

Judging by the large, black, gold-lettered sign bolted above its main entrance, the two-storied brown brick building housed a fraternity.

The pair piled out of their rescue truck and began pulling equipment cases from its side compartments.

'Π Π Π…Pi Pi Pi?' Roy silently translated and wondered what it could possibly stand for.

Gear in hand, the paramedics followed a grey walkway up to the fraternity's front entrance.

John set one of his equipment cases down on the porch's top step so he could bang on the stately abode's big wooden door. "Fire Department!"

"C'mon in! C'mon in!" a man urged, his muffled voice sounding more than a bit frantic.

John shoved the heavy portal open and was hit, full force in the face, with a wall of sickeningly-sweet-smelling smoke.

The odor was unmistakable and an old Three-Dog-Night song promptly began playing in his already slightly 'buzzing' brain.

' _Open up the windows…let some air into this room…I think I'm almost chokin'…from the smell of stale perfume_ …'

The paramedics exchanged a couple of 'What the hell?' looks.

DeSoto shoved the front door fully open.

The firemen then emptied their hands and began opening windows.

' _Open up the window, sucker…let me catch my breath._ '

Their efforts were rewarded as the thick haze slowly began to disperse.

The fraternity's living space was a disaster! Pill bottles and beer bottles and empty take-out containers were strewn everywhere! There didn't seem to be a flat surface in the place that wasn't covered with some sort of 'party debris'.

The medical equipment was retrieved and carried over to a large, black leather sofa.

A scared-looking young man was sitting there, cross-legged on one of the couch's cushions, with an open book in his lap.

DeSoto dropped to a knee and began popping cases open. "Hi. I'm Roy. He's John. What's your name?"

"Joey—Joseph Waters."

"What seems to be the problem, Joey?" Roy continued and promptly began procuring a set of vitals.

"There's this…this 'thing' stuck in my jaw, man!"

John gave the guy's jaw a thorough examination but couldn't find any 'thing'. "Is it on the inside of your mouth? Or the outside?"

"Neither! It's right here under my skin, man!" he paused to point out the 'things' exact location. "Yesterday, it was over here," his pointing finger swung to the other side of his jaw. "But, today, it's over here!" the tip of his right index finger returned to the 'thing's' current locale.

The paramedics exchanged a couple a' more 'What the hell?' looks.

John rested his hands on his hips. "I thought you said it was 'stuck'…"

"It **was** stuck. But then…it started crawlin!"

The look that passed between the two rescue men this time went way beyond 'What the hell?'

John wasn't sure he'd heard the guy correctly. "Crawling?"

"Yeah, man! It's a worm!"

Gage couldn't quite wrap his already boggled, buzzing brain around that reply, either. "A…worm. What makes you think there's a worm crawling around in your jaw?"

"It's right here, man! Right here in this book! See?"

John obligingly took a look at the book. "According to this, this parasite is found in Africa. Have you recently been to Africa?"

Joey gave his blond head a shake.

"Then how could you possibly get this parasite?"

" _Planes_ , man! _Planes_!"

Roy pursed his lips and gave his partner a 'Du-uh' look.

John gasped, partly in amusement and partly in exasperation. "Have you recently been on an International flight?"

"No."

"Any flight?"

"No."

That was a lie. Judging by all the signs and symptoms, the guy was _flying_ right now…and rather high, at that.

Roy was rapidly running out of patience. "Are you currently taking any med—prescription medications?"

"No."

His partner picked an open pill bottle up from the coffee table and examined its contents. "Looks like methamphetamine, but the label's missing so I can't tell the dosage."

Roy locked his solemn gaze on the guy. "Did you take any of those?"

"I can't remember."

Another lie.

Roy inserted the bio-phone's call stick and contacted Rampart. Vitals and other pertinent information, regarding their African parasite patient, were relayed.

" **All right, 51** ," Doctor Early came back. " **Vitals look good. If the symptoms persist, tell Mister Waters to contact his personal physician.** "

"Squad 51. Copy that, Rampart."

"That's it? That's all you guys are gonna do?"

Roy relocked his gaze onto the guy. "You wanna tell us what drugs you've been taking? Besides cannabis?"

Joey gave his blond head another quick shake.

"Unless you help **us** , we _can't_ help **you** ," Roy solemnly pointed out. "That's the way it works."

The released paramedics packed up their cases and quickly took their leave.

* * *

The creeped out rescuers got their equipment stowed away and then just sat there silently in their truck, staring straight ahead.

John, who was still experiencing a bit of a 'buzz', was the first to speak. "I have this overwhelming urge to jump in the shower when we get back."

"Me, too. I think I figured out what Pi-Pi-Pi stands for. Party-Party-Party."

" _That ain't no way to have fun, So-on,"_ John replied, giving voice to the lyrics that were still stuck in his slightly buzzed brain." _That ain't no way to have fun. No!_ " the crooner concluded with a sad shake of his head.

His buddy suppressed a grin. "You okay to drive?"

"Not yet," Gage admitted. "But I will be. Just give me a few more minutes."

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later…

John backed their rescue truck into its parking bay.

Roy had failed to clear them.

So Gage picked up their dash-mounted radio's mic' and thumbed its send button. "L.A., Squad 51. We are back in quarters."

" **10-4, 51**."

John replaced the mic' and the two of them began exiting the vehicle.

Their Captain had heard the truck backing in and had stepped out into the garage to greet them. Hank got a whiff of his paramedics' perfume and began fanning the sickeningly-sweet-smell away from his face. "Whew! What'd that guy have stuck in his jaw? A joint?" He saw them starting to close the truck's doors. "Leave 'em open and let it air out. The two of you had better go get showered and changed—"

The two of them looked positively delighted and immediately disappeared.

"—and I'll show the Squad 10-8 at the station," Stanley told the now empty garage.

Speaking of the station…

Kelly came out of the rec' room just then, his nose held high…tentatively sniffing the air. "Cap, why does it smell like somebody's been smokin' whacko tobacco in the Station?"

Hank winced. "Open the back overhead. Let's see if we can get a breeze blowin' through here."

* * *

Twenty minutes later…

Gage and DeSoto were seated in front of their open lockers snugging up their bootlaces.

Captain Stanley entered the room and winced again.

The distinctive odor of pot permeated the entire place.

Hank approached his showered and changed paramedics and handed them a couple of black plastic garbage sacks. "I want the two of you to put everything you were wearing in these bags. Then stick 'em out in your cars and hope to God you don't get pulled over."

"Aye aye, Cap!" the pair responded, speaking in perfect unison, and obediently began stuffing their sickeningly-sweet-smelling uniforms, boxers and socks into the plastic sacks.

"I'm gonna go put the Squad back in service."

"Aye aye, Cap!" the two replied, again in tandem.

'How do they do that?' Hank wondered on his way over to the radio.

* * *

The instant the Captain's thumb released the mic's send button, a call came in for the placed-back-in-service Squad.

Hank watched as both of his rescue guys came flying out of the locker room and up to the vehicle's passenger door.

Both of them had a hold of its handle, but John had managed to latch onto it first.

Roy stared down at the right hand directly beneath his. "The only thing you're ever gonna drive _from over here_ ," he irritatedly informed his slightly embarrassed associate, "is ME… **crazy**!"

'If it ain't broke, don't fix it…' Hank silently repeated, reminding himself of Stoker's sage advice. 'Guess some 'automatic workings' are just too 'conditioned' to override.' "I have another great idea. Roy, why don't **you** do the driving."

Both paramedics' faces filled with profound relief and they gave their Supreme Commander looks of undying gratitude before assuming their proper places.

Hank acknowledged the call and then passed his deliriously happy guys the address.

Roy ignited the Squad's engine and eased it out onto the street ramp.

"Right!" Hank heard Gage say. 'In more than one way,' their Captain mused and couldn't keep from smiling.

All was once again _right_ with their world.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter Five

**“If Wishes Were Horses”**

**Chapter Five**

Their ‘man down’ call ended up being a simple _lift assist_. 

The paramedics helped Mrs. Levinson pick her uninjured husband up off the floor of their living room and get him resituated in his wheelchair.

_______________________________________________

The pair was in the process of replacing their medical equipment when Johnny suddenly realized something.  “At least it wasn’t another person ‘stuck’ call.”

“In a way, it was,” Roy quickly countered.  “That guy was stuck there on the floor til we came along and picked him back up.”

John nodded thoughtfully.

Roy grinned.  “What d’yah say we swing by the hospital on our way back and check on our namesakes?”

His partner’s reply was to launch himself into their squad so fast his door was closed before Roy could even complete his question.

________________________________________________

Fifteen minutes later, up in Rampart General’s Nursery…

51’s paramedics stood with their foreheads pressed against the cool glass of the newborns’ observation window.

“Wonder which one is which?” John pondered as he stood there, pacing in place.

Roy smiled. “John has to be the one on the right—the one that can’t seem to lie still.”

“Figured I’d find the two of you here,” Dr. Early said as he came stepping up to them with an open medical journal in his hands.  “I have something to show you…” He held the periodical up for the paramedics to examine.

“ _Delusional Parasitosis:  a condition experienced by those who abuse amphetamines or opiates, particularly methamphetamine and cocaine._

_Delusional parasitosis is formication, a touch-based (tactile) hallucination that produces a feeling similar to bugs crawling on a person’s skin._

_Drug users find many nicknames for these hallucinations, such as meth mites, amphetamites or coke bugs.  But the scientific term is ‘delusional parasitosis’_.”

“Sound familiar?” Early inquired, upon noting the two firemen had finished reading.

The readers exchanged thoughtful glances.

“Uhhh…yeah, Doc,” John replied.

“Definitely sounds like our fraternity guy…” Roy had to admit.

“More and more cases are coming through the ER every week.  Probably wouldn’t hurt to bring it up at your next Advisory Meeting.”

“Right,” Roy agreed.  Or, not.  He had visions of the entire committee suddenly experiencing an urgent need to shower.

____________________________________________

Later that afternoon…

Roy entered Station 51’s rec’ room and spotted his still pacing partner’s untouched lunch.  “No appetite?”

John suddenly realized he was no longer alone with his thoughts and halted in mid-stride.  “Huh?”

Roy fought back a grin.  “I said, I see you’re not eating again.  Shall I call it in?  _Rampart, this is County 51.  I have a 30 yr. old male patient.  Symptoms are: loss of appetite and extreme restlessness. The victim seems to be walking around in some sort of a daze.  Vitals are: pulse 60, BP 90/60, respirations 12—unless a certain young lady is present.  Then, pulse is 80, BP is 120/80 and respirations are 20._    **_51, sounds like your victim has suffered a severe blow to his heart.  Draw some blood for analysis and get a marriage license ready.  Then, administer two witnesses, one Justice of the Peace and a honeymoon in Lake Tahoe_** _._ ”  Roy grinned, seeing that his teasing had succeeded in causing his uptight chum to chuckle.  “I think I may be onto something.  I haven’t seen you blush _that_ much since that hairdresser sat in your lap and called you ‘ _cuuute_ ’.”

The memory of that moment caused his bachelor friend to chuckle anew.  “You forgot to mention the _aching arms_ ,” John joined in, once he’d regained his composure…somewhat.

“Ahhh.  Ri-ight.  That feeling you get when your arms want to hold her so bad they actually **hurt**.  Better get used to it, my boy.  Because that feeling **never** goes awa—”

The rest of his married buddy’s comment was drowned out by the tones, summoning Squad 51 on yet another run.

____________________________________

Thirteen minutes later, at an extremely crowded restaurant—the site of their ‘woman down’ call…

Their 67 yr. old ‘syncopal episode’ victim had been successfully revived. 

“You’d faint, too, if **your** 87 year-old mother just told **you** she was getting married!” the woman shouted and shoved the signed ‘Refusal of Treatment’ form back at the blond fireman.

The woman’s engaged, and rather engaging, mother just sat there in their booth looking _most_ amused and not the least bit repentant.

The no longer needed, or wanted, rescuers gathered their equipment up and quickly took their leave.

________________________________________

“Well,” Gage began as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk.  “Nobody was ‘stuck’, **this** …time…” his words trailed off.

A red Pontiac Firebird was parked right up against the Squad’s front bumper, and a blue Lincoln V was parked right up against its back bumper.

The firemen stood there staring in disbelief at their completely ‘hemmed in’ rescue truck.

DeSoto turned to his buddy, looking extremely annoyed, “You were saying…”

__________________________________________

An hour later, back in Station 51’s rec’ room…

“We don’t wanna hear about tow trucks and parking tickets,” Chet interrupted the two still-irritated and venting paramedics.   “We wanna hear about that reefer call you guys had this morning.  You guys had to be high.  I mean, I was gettin’ high just inhalin’ your fumes.”

“You mean the ‘Party Party Party Fraternity’ call?” Roy sarcastically queried.

“We ever get a run there again, I’m goin’ in with my air-pac on,” Johnny vowed.

“So, what’d that guy have stuck in his jaw?” Mike wondered.

“A…worm,” Roy hesitatingly replied. 

John saw Stoker’s look of disbelief and nodded. “Only, turns out it wasn’t stuck.  It was crawling around.”

Chet’s face scrunched up in disgust, but then his curiosity won out.  “How does a guy ever get a ‘worm’ stuck in his jaw?” he inquired over the sound of the claxons.

John and Roy rose to their feet but, before exiting the room, they turned to Kelly and exclaimed, in perfect unison, “ _Planes_ , man!  _Planes_!”

 The engine crew watched their grinning paramedic chums disappear into the garage. 

“ _Had_ to be high?” Marco repeated.

Heck, they were _still_ high.

_____________________________________

Back in the rec’ area of Station 51, two hours and forty-five minutes before the shift change…

One of B-Shift’s paramedics stepped into the room and almost ran into one of A-Shift’s paramedics.  Actually, Gage almost ran into him.

John, who’d barely managed to hit the brakes in time, appeared puzzled.  “What are you doing here?”

“Captain Stanley called and asked if I’d be willing to come in a couple a’ hours early,” J.T. told him.  “Something about helping Roy put you out of your misery?”

John’s head swung in his buddy’s direction.

Roy shrugged.  “Thought the two of you could go out to breakfast before she has to go to work.”

John’s disbelieving gaze fell upon his coffee-sipping Captain.

Hank smiled and nodded.

Gage gave all three firemen looks of eternal gratitude before racing for the payphone.  He almost started dialing before the coin could even hit the bottom of the slot.  A full minute passed.  “She’s not picking up…”

“Maybe she’s in the shower?” Roy suggested.

“I should just go over there,” Johnny said, thinking aloud.  “Yeah.  Yea-eah.  I should just go over there and ask her **in person**.” 

The deliriously happy young man slammed the phone down and went racing out to his car.

The remaining firemen watched in amusement as the off-duty paramedic drove past the window to the alley, still wearing his duty uniform.

Hank suddenly realized something. “Poor guy’s got it _bad_.”

“ _Real_ _bad_ ,” Roy agreed and exchanged a broad grin with his Captain.

 TBC

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

" **If Wishes Were Horses"**

**Chapter Six**

Stacey Ferrel was so anxious to see John Gage again that she had set her alarm to go off a whole two hours early. She had big plans.

Before leaving to spend the evening with her date, Gerry had come up with the brainy notion that her love-sick roomy should invite her fireman out to breakfast so the two of them could spend some time together before she had to go to work.

* * *

Stacey put the finishing touches on her appearance and then phoned John's fire station, to invite him to breakfast.

Nobody picked up.

She quickly surmised that 51's crew must be out on a call, and decided to drive over there and wait for their return.

* * *

When Miss Ferrell pulled into 51's back parking lot she discovered that the firetrucks were not the only vehicles that were missing from the station.

John's Land Rover was also gone.

Had he come back to work too soon? Had his Captain sent him home?

She decided she would drive over to his place and find out.

* * *

John Gage pulled up to 118 South La Brea Canyon Drive and sighed in frustration.

Stacey's little white car was nowhere in sight.

He decided to try the door, anyway.

* * *

Stacey pulled up and parked across the street from John's place.

There was still no sign of his Rover.

'Where could he possibly be—?' Her face suddenly filled with alarm. 'What if he hadn't been sent _home_? What if he had been sent to the _hospital_?' She was just about to drive off in search of a phone booth when a cab pulled up and parked right in front of John's apartment.

* * *

A drop dead gorgeous woman wearing a stewardess' uniform exited the cab, paid the driver off and then began tugging her airline bag up the walkway.

When no one responded to the doorbell, the woman pulled a key from her purse and used it to gain access to John's apartment.

* * *

Stacey was, at first, completely perplexed. But then she recalled the conversation she and Bonnie had overheard in the break room a couple of weeks back.

* * *

_"The flowers are lovely. I just can't picture the two of them together. I mean, she's not exactly his_ _type_ _, is she."_

_"What do you mean? I hear any woman who_ _puts out_ _is his type."_

_"I thought he only dated_ _nurses._ _"_

_"And airline stewardesses."_

_"Hey...That's right. Last I heard, he was pretty 'hot and heavy' with some stewardess."_

_"Maybe they broke up?"_

_"O-Or, maybe she's just_ _out of town_ _..."_

_"You know what they say...When the cat's away, the rat will_ _play_ _."_

* * *

So…the 'cat' was back.

Miss Ferrel scrapped her breakfast plans and headed in to work early.

The 'cat's' arrival had pretty much caused her to lose her appetite, anyway.

* * *

John had pressed Stacey's dang doorbell so many times his right index finger actually felt sore.

The fireman finally gave up on breakfast and decided he'd invite the young lady to a picnic lunch at headquarters, instead.

With that ulterior plan in place, the off-duty paramedic climbed back into his car and headed for home.

* * *

Following a flurry of frantic phone calls, the woman with the key to John's apartment had changed into her civvies and brewed some coffee. With coffee mug in hand, she then settled in to await the apartment owner's return.

* * *

At long last, a familiar vehicle appeared out front.

The woman set her mug down and waited until she heard the jingle of keys. Then she pulled the unlocked portal open and yelled, "SURPRISE!"

John's dark eyes instantly doubled in size and the startled look on his face was promptly replaced with one of profound joy. "JULIE!" He swept his surprise visitor off her feet and swung her around a few times.

"Put me down!" Julie pleaded. "You're making me dizzy!"

John obligingly set his big sister down but declined to release his bear hug. "Gosh! It's so great to see you!"

"You cannot possibly imagine how good it is to see **you** ," Julie assured him and bear-hugged him right back. "A friend and I went on a European Holiday for a few weeks. When I got home, there was a message waiting for me on my answering machine—from the _Los Angeles County Fire Department_!"

Gage grimaced and promptly broke their embrace. "Ahhh…man! Julie, I am soooooo sorry! I forgot all about…that."

He had an 'arrangement' with the powers that be down at headquarters. He had made it perfectly clear that his 'next of kin' was only to be notified if it looked like his medical condition could go 'either way'.

"The message said that my baby brother was in ICU— _fighting for his life_!" Julie continued, her voice cracking with emotion. "Of course I freaked out. I called the hospital and was told you'd been discharged over two weeks ago. I called the fire department and was told you were out on medical leave. I called here—no answer. I called the station and got some guy on C-shift. He had no idea where, or how, you were. Since I couldn't seem to get any answers, and, since my suitcase was still packed, I called a cab and hopped on the next flight to New York. Then, I hitched a ride here. How are you? Are you all right?"

John gave his deeply concerned sibling a comforting hug. "I'm fine," he assured her. "As you can see," he motioned to his duty uniform, "I'm already back to work."

"What happened to your _medical leave of absence_?"

"Turns out, I get healthy the same way I get sick—overnight."

Julie studied her brother carefully. She had to admit, he did look pretty damn good. "What's with the eh…the eh…?"

"It's a mustache."

"Did Chet talk you into that?"

"Not…exactly."

"I knew it."

Her baby brother stepped back a bit and grinned. "So? What d'yah think?"

"You look a little like George Harrison."

"Is that good…or bad?"

"Depends on how well you can sing and play the guitar," she teased. "Seriously, I love it! It makes you look very distinguished. And George **is** my _favorite_ Beatle. You think you could take us out to eat?"

"Sure."

"Great! Because there is absolutely nothing **edible** in this apartment of yours."

"Sorry 'bout that. I just got back from Michigan yesterday and I haven't had a chance to go shopping yet."

"What on earth were you doing in Michigan? Never mind. You can tell me all about your exotic travels _while we're eating_."

"Just give me a minute to get changed." John disappeared into his bedroom. "How long can you stay?"

"I had to work my way here. So, I'm on stand-by. A few days…maybe."

John stepped back into the entry hall wearing a tight pair of faded jeans and a neon-yellow T-shirt. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Waffles!" his famished family member exclaimed, latching onto his left arm and dragging him out the apartment's still open front door.

* * *

Julie settled into the Rover's passenger seat and then sat there, sniffing. "Have you been smoking weed in here?"

John glanced behind his seat.

Sure enough! THE black garbage bag had been removed from the station and placed in his car.

"We might have to hit a laundry-mat on the way back," he cautioned as he climbed in behind the wheel. 'So much for my picnic idea,' he matter-of-factly mused and realized his already aching arms now hurt like bloody hell. The paramedic started his odorous automobile up and headed off in search of 'waffles', praying to God that they wouldn't get pulled over.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter Seven

**“If Wishes Were Horses”**

**Chapter Seven**

In the break room just outside the Personnel Department at LACFD’s headquarters…

Stacey had just finished relating the morning’s disastrous events to her co-worker—and best friend—Bonnie Simms.

“I don’t know, Stace’,” Miss Simms responded, following several seconds of thoughtful silence.  “You’re not being very fair to the guy.  I mean, it sounds like she just got back.  He probably hasn’t had a chance to break it off with her yet.”

Stacey’s forlorn face lit up. “Of course!  That’s probably it!  I don’t know what I’d do without you, Bonn’.  Once again, you have proven to be the voice of reason.” Her frown reappeared.   “How much time should I give him to _break it off with her_?”

“Depends on how serious their relationship was.  I’d say…at least a day.”

Stacey could live with that.  At least, she **hoped** she could.

_____________________________________________

John used the laundry-mat’s payphone to call headquarters.  His whole countenance brightened the moment he heard his young lady’s voice. “Hi, Stacey!  Where were you this morning?  I tried calling but you didn’t pick up.  So I drove over to your place, to see if you wanted to have breakfast with me, but you weren’t home.”

“ _I decided to go in early this morning_.”

“Oh.  Are you free tonight?”

“ _Are you?_ ”

“I have _big plans_ for tonight and all of them include **you**.”

“ _I’m supposed to go over to Uncle Bill’s and Aunt Martha’s for dinner.  They’re expecting me._ ”

“Oh.  What about after that?”

“ _I’ll probably be there pretty late._ ”

“I see.  Well, then, how about having breakfast with me _tomorrow_?  I can be ready by seven.  We could meet at that little diner just down the street from headquarters.  That would give us time to eat, and you wouldn’t have to worry about being late.”

“ _“We’ll see.  I’ll give you a call.  Look, I gotta get back to work._ ”

“Sure.  See yah, Stacey…”  At least, John **hoped** he’d see her.

____________________________________________________

Johnny’s apartment, following an afternoon of hiking and grocery shopping…

Gage put his ‘pot-free’ uniform and their groceries away and then sank onto the sofa beside his sister.

Julie exhaled and exasperated gasp.  “I really **hate** jet lag.  When I feel like sleeping, you feel like hiking.  When you feel like sleeping, I feel like _dancing_.”

“I will take you to breakfast.  I will take you hiking and I will take you shopping.  But I draw the line at _dancing_.”

 “Of all your single firemen friends, who’s the best dancer?”

“Probably Marco.”

“Oooh!  That sexy Latino guy!  Think, if I called and asked, **he** ’d take me dancing?”

Gage couldn’t keep from grinning.  He picked his living room’s portable phone up, dialed a number from memory and then handed the ringing instrument off to his sister.  “There’s a table reserved for 8:00 at La Camida’s, if the two of you are interested.”

“That exclusive little eatery over on the Strip?  What happened?  Your date back out on you?”

“I made the reservation before I made the date.  Wishful thinking on my part.”

The ringing finally stopped.

“Hello, Marco?  This is Johnny’s sister, Julie Ann…It’s good to speak with you again, too…Look, the reason I’m calling is,  I’m gonna be in L.A. for a few days and **my brother** refuses to take me dancing.  So I was wondering, if you don’t have any other plans for tonight, if **you** ’d be willing to take me dancing?...You **would**!...Salsa?  No.  I’ve never heard of it, but I’d love to give it a try!...Yes, I’m staying at his place…Yes.  Okay.  Thanks!...Yes.  See you then!” She pressed disconnect and passed the phone back to her still grinning brother.  “I.  Am. Going. _Dancing_!” she smugly declared and then went boogie’ing off to get ready for her impromptu date.

______________________________________________________

Very early the following morning…

It had been the longest 24 hours of Stacey’s life, but she was finally on her way over to John’s place.  

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop those stinging words from replaying in her head…

_______________________________________________

_" Last I heard, he was pretty 'hot and heavy' with some stewardess."_

_"Maybe they broke up?"_

_"O-Or, maybe she's just out of town..."_

_"You know what they say...When the cat's away, the rat will play."_

_________________________________________________________

Miss Ferrel pulled up and parked behind her fireman’s Land Rover.  “You’re home.”  ‘Please be home alone? Please be home alone?  Please be home alone?’ she silently pleaded all the way up the walk and clear on through a half a’ dozen impatient pressings of the apartment’s visitor’s buzzer.

But it was the beautiful airline stewardess from the day before who finally came to the door…in her nightie. “Yes?”

Stacey’s eyes stung, her throat tightened and her pounding heart shattered into a zillion little pieces.  “Uh-uh,” she stammered, following a few quick gulps.  “Sorry! Wrong apartment!”  she managed to blurt out before turning and fleeing back over to her car. 

____________________________________________

The jet-lagged Julie Ann Gage had been out Salsa dancing til the wee hours of the morning.  The only half-awake woman resented the interruption to her much needed sleep.  Before closing the door, she picked her brother’s ‘Day Sleeper’ sign up from the hall table and draped it over the portal’s outside knob. 

Her gallant brother always let her have his comfy bed when she came to visit and she was anxious to get back to it.

_________________________________________

Speaking of her gallant brother…

John Gage was standing in his steaming shower…singing at the top of his lungs.  “ _It never rains in Southern California…Seems I’ve often heard that kind of talk before…It never rains in California…But, girl let me warn yah…It pours…Man! It pours!_ ”

_____________________________________________________

Miss Ferrel had managed to make it a block or two before finally having to pull over. 

The young woman sat there in her little white car and had herself a good, long, hard cry.  

Stacey cried her broken heart out.  

She thought of their picnic lunch…their kiss at the car-wash…their romantic evening on the beach…and the endless hours the two of them had spent on the phone together—all that the two of them had shared. 

She’d been so sure that her fireman _really_ **cared**.

‘Gaaaaaaah!’  the young woman felt like such a fool!

 _“When the cat's away, the rat will play._ ”

Well, the ‘rat’ had sure _played_ **her** —to perfection!

________________________________________________

John Gage was becoming more anxious by the minute.

It was close to seven-thirty and Stacey still hadn’t called.

He halted in mid-pace picked up his silent phone and called her.

Busy signal.

_________________________________________

Forty-five minutes, and a dozen or so more phone calls, later, Stacey’s line was **still** busy.

Her phone had to be out of order.

Of all the lousy times for that to happen!

John picked Stacey’s picture and Moose up from his coffee table and headed off for her place.

If he was real lucky, he might still be able to catch her before she left for work.

__________________________________________________

 

John pulled up to 118 South La Brea Canyon Drive and grinned.  

Stacey’s little white car was still sitting in the driveway.

Things were looking up.

He parked the Rover, grabbed his gifts and practically ran up onto her porch.  When he pressed the visitor’s buzzer this time, the door opened and Gerry Mills appeared. 

The look on the young woman’s face was far from friendly. 

“Mornin’.  I tried calling but your phone must be out of order.”

“It’s not out of order.  It’s off the hook.  Stacey never wants to see you—or speak with you— **ever** again.” That having been said, Miss Mills slammed the door in his astonished face.

John just stood there for a minute or two, too stunned to move or speak.  He finally managed to raise his numb right arm and give the visitor’s buzzer another pressing.  “Why?” he demanded the moment the door re-opened.  “What did I do?”

Gerry rolled her eyes.  “Stacey’s right.  You are such a **jerk**!  And, if you are not **off** of this property in _one minute_ , we’re calling the cops!” Miss Mills emphasized her threat—er, promise, by giving their front door another forceful ‘ _slam_!’ in the bewildered fireman’s face.

John dropped the contents of his shaking left hand into one of the porch’s planters and obligingly took his leave.

_________________________________________________

John had driven aimlessly around for awhile and had finally ended up at the beach where he and Stacey had spent their last evening together.  He sat there tossing handfuls of sand at his bare feet…listening to the soothing sound of the surf pounding against the shore…and remembering…

_________________________________________________

_"If I would've known it was going to involve all of this," the pretty, posing miss pouted, "I would never have agreed to let you take my picture!"_

_It was sunset and John and Stacey were standing—barefoot—on a deserted stretch of ocean beach._

_"Quit complaining and just enjoy the view," the photographer advised and kept right on playing with his camera's aperture._

_"If you don't hurry it up, you're going to miss your plane!"_

_"I told you, I'm already packed. Besides, we're on the Redeye. Our plane's not leaving for another four hours, yet."_

_Stacey sighed in surrender and reluctantly changed the subject. "Did you really take all of those incredible silhouette photos in your apartment?"_

_John nodded. "It's a hobby a' mine."_

_"Well, you're very good at it."_

_"Thanks. Now, I'm gonna need you to stand sideways. You see, I'm going for your profile."_

_The girl sighed again and moved into the requested position._

_"Just a little to the left. I want you standing right in the center of the sun."_

_Stacey grinned. She'd never been asked to stand in the center of the sun before._

_"A little more...Perfect!" the picky picture-taker proclaimed. "Okay. Thanks. I got it," he added, following a few 'click's and 'whi-irr's ._

_The girl gasped in relief and allowed herself to look around. She gasped again. The view was breathtaking! "Oh!...Wo-ow!" she exclaimed._

_The fireman finished stowing his photographic equipment in his car, and returned to the water's edge._

_"Beautiful, isn't it!" Stacey quietly commented and stood there, transfixed by both the beauty of the scenery and the soothing sound of the surf._

_Gage was studying the girl's glowing face. He could see the setting sun's reflection in her eyes. "Yes...it certainly is!" he softly agreed._

_Stacey shot her companion a sideways glance, saw that he wasn't even looking out at the sunset, and gave him a playful shove._

_John lost his balance and went down on all fours. He latched onto to laughing girl's wrist and pulled her to her knees, as well._

_A huge wave came rolling in and swamped them both._

_John scrambled to his feet and dragged his date further up the beach._

_They stood there, laughing at themselves for getting caught off-guard._

_The paramedic pulled the pretty girl back into his arms, held her close and kissed her—again. Just like the first time, his head began to spin. He could feel his heart start throwing PVCs._

_'Wo-ow!' Stacey mentally repeated and melted into his embrace. "Let's build a sandcastle!" she suddenly suggested, when the couple, at last, came up for air._

_The fireman was tremendously disappointed. Building a sandcastle could never hold a candle to kissing her! "I'd rather hold you..."_

_"Plea-ease?" the pretty miss pleaded and gave him a persuasive smile._

_"A sandcastle, huh?" Gage grumbled. Then he reluctantly released his hold on her and began heading towards the water's edge again. He walked into the surf, right up to his knees, and let another cool wave wash over him._

_Stacey struggled desperately not to laugh. "Now where are you going?" she wondered, as he dripped past her._

_"To my car," he called back. "To get some matches and some wood...to start a fire! It'll be dark soon and we'll be needing some light...So we can see to build our...sandcastle," he finished explaining, failing miserably to hide the extreme disappointment he was still experiencing._

_"You carry your own wood around with you?"_

_"Yup!" the paramedic proudly confessed. "I believe in being prepared."_

_Stacey shook her pretty, blonde head a few times and then flashed her Boy Scout an appreciative smile._

__________________________________________

_A little while later, Gage and the girl were kneeling in front of an enormous mountain of sculpted sand, putting the finishing touches on their sandcastle...by flickering firelight._

_John kept stopping to stare at Stacey. He loved the way the flames' reflections lit up the girl's lovely face, and caused her long strands of blonde hair to shine, like fine-spun gold._

_The girl saw him piling sand into a giant mound with no apparent purpose. "What are you making?"_

_Gage glanced down. "Uhhh...The dragon."_

_"The dragon?"_

_"Yeah. Every castle has to have a dragon. Preferably fire-breathing. That way, when the dragon attacks the castle, the princess will be sure to call the fire department." He grinned and crawled even closer. "And, that way, I'll get to rescue her!" He took her hand in his and kissed it...and her wrist...and her arm...and her shoulder...and her neck. "What?" he wondered when the girl began backing off a bit. "Don't you want me to rescue you?"_

_"That depends...on what you'd do with me once you'd...rescued me." Stacey stopped to stare off across the water. "You see, my mother told me that guys like popular girls. She said what they liked about them was that they liked to take them to bed..." she turned back to witness John's reaction to her soft-spoken words._

_The guy looked thoughtful._

_Stacey continued. "The unpopular girls, the ones with morals and values, she said that guys liked to take them home to meet mom and dad. So-o I decided—long ago—that there was more to life than just being popular. This princess wants her story to end: And they lived happily ever after. Can you understand?"_

_"I didn't think there were any old-fashioned princesses left in this world," John answered, sounding genuinely amazed._

_"You think that I'm a fool..."_

_"He-ey, no way! In fact, I respect and admire you. It takes a great deal of courage to be old-fashioned, these days."_

_Stacey blinked her watering eyes. The tears streamed silently down her cheeks._

_Gage saw the girl's tears glistening in the fire's light. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a reassuring hug._

_"I have your respect and admiration. But can an old-fashioned princess ever find true love in a modern world?"_

_John just knelt there for a while, holding her and gazing into the fire. "A guy could very easily fall in love with you, princess," he whispered finally. "Very easily..." he quietly repeated. Then he closed his eyes and held her even tighter._

_The old-fashioned girl smiled and snuggled cozily up in his arms._

_The two of them held on to each other for a long time._

_________________________________________________

Gerry Mills stepped out onto their porch to retrieve their morning paper and spotted the items that had been planted in their planter.  She stuffed the stuffed animal under her arm and then picked up the framed photo. 

It was a silhouette of Stacey? standing in front of a setting sun. A hand-written poem had been slipped beneath the glass.

_I watch a lot of sunsets._

_Love the way the colors paint the skies._

_But I never felt a sunset_

_Til I saw one in your eyes._

_John_

_____________________________________________________

“Too bad the guy is such a **total jerk** ,” Gerry determined, returning from the porch with more than just the paper.  “The moose is _adorable_.  The photo is absolutely _breathtaking_ and the poem is just so gosh-darn _romantic_.”

Stacey stared down at the stuffed animal and the framed photo. “Where’d you find those?”

“They were in a planter on the porch.  He must have left them there.  If you don’t want them, can I keep them?”

“I don’t care,” Stacey said, snatching up her car keys.  “As long as **I** never have to lay eyes on them.”

Gerry gave her red-eyed roomy a sympathetic smile.  “You should just call in sick.”

“I’ll be fine,” Stacey assured her, “…eventually.”

____________________________________________________

For the life of him, John Gage could not come up with a plausible explanation for the heartless way he’d just been dumped.  The only thing he was sure of was that he was tired of trying to figure it all out.  He finally determined that his time would be much better spent with his sister.  He vowed to be his cheery old self around her, too.

After all, Julie could receive another _phone call from headquarters_ some day and he’d be damned if he was going to let her last memory of him be of him moping around and feeling sorry for himself.

He swiped the sand from between his toes and the soles of his feet.  Then he slipped his socks and shoes back on and headed home to make more _enjoyable_ memories…for the **both** of them.

**TBC**

 

 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

**“If Wishes Were Horses”**

**Chapter Eight**

Three days later…

John returned home from his morning run and found that he no longer had a houseguest.

He stepped into his kitchen to grab a quick coffee before leaving for work and spotted a handwritten note on the counter.

_John,_

_The airlines called.  I’m flying to Rome.  I love Rome.  I love you._

_I already marked August 15 th on your calendar for you.  _

_Please reconsider? Aunt Nadine is expecting the both of us to be there!_

_I’m gonna try to get back to L.A. more often._

_Tell Marco I expect him to take me dancing._

_Yours truly,_

_Julie_

_P.S.  Thanks for the waffle iron.  And for teaching me how to make pasties._

 

Gage grinned and jerked the counter’s top drawer open.  He snatched a little red fire truck magnet up from the drawer and used it to add Julie’s note to the crayon drawing that was already stuck on the door to his fridge.

_______________________________________________________________

Less than an hour later…

Roy entered Station 51’s locker room and saw that Johnny was already sporting his duty uniform. “So, what did Stacey think of your mustache?”

Johnny’s reply to his question was a quick, cold one of his own. “Stacey who?”

The icy indifference in his friend’s voice told Roy that John and Stacey were no longer an item.  He gave his hurting partner a deeply sympathetic look and immediately dropped the painful subject.

_________________________________________________________

Morning roll was taken and the day’s duty assignments were handed out.

Hank couldn’t help but notice the pronounced change in the dark-haired paramedic’s usually cheery demeanor.  In an attempt to bolster the guy’s spirits a bit, he had given Gage his favorite assignment: truck and equipment inspection.  ____________________________________________________

It took John close to an hour to assure that both trucks had proper tire pressure…and proper oil, brake, radiator, windshield washer and power steering fluid levels. He also insured that all their air bottles were fully pressurized, all their gas-operated power tools were fully fueled—and running—and all batteries were fully charged.

__________________________________________________

While Gage had been inspecting the trucks and equipment, Hank Stanley had been inspecting him.

The young fireman emitted such a profound aura of sadness, the Captain knew—in his heart—that the girl had broken John’s heart.

‘Damn!’

_______________________________________________________

Gage had completed his assigned task and was just about to head for the dorm when his boss intercepted him.

“John, could you step in here for a minute,” his Captain ordered more than asked.

The forlorn fireman followed Stanley into his office and the two of them assumed some seats.

“Would you like me to arrange some time off for you?”

“Actually, Cap that is the last thing I want you to do for me.”

Hank gave his hurting crewman a deeply sympathetic look.  “Understood.  If you change your mind, just say the word.  Okay?”

John gave his kind and caring Captain a slight nod and an even slighter smile.  “Thanks, Cap.”

“Anytime,” Stanley assured him and returned the young fireman’s sad smile.  “Dismissed.”

Gage gave his compassionate boss an appreciative nod and quickly took his leave.

The fire officer exhaled a gasp of extreme frustration and reluctantly returned to his paperwork. ‘Damn!’

_____________________________________________

Gage was sitting on his bunk lost in thought.

Kelly came into the dorm carrying an armload of fresh sheets and pillow cases.  He dumped the bedding onto his bunk and turned to face his spaced-out friend.

John stepped up to the intruder and stuffed a five dollar bill in his front shirt pocket.

“What’s that for?”

“The bet.”

“She liked it!  I told you she would!”

“No-o. She didn’t like it.”

“Then, shouldn’t I be giving **you** five bucks?”

“It’s **me** she hates, not the mustache.  She’s never even seen my mustache.”

“In that case, the bet’s off,” Kelly determined and stashed the five bucks back in his bummed buddy’s shirt pocket.  “I’m really sorry, Johnny.  I would rather have lost the bet than see you lose your girl.”

John gave him a grateful look.  “Me, too.”

________________________________________________

It was nearly noon and the Station’s tones still hadn’t sounded.

Marco was headed for the kitchen on another coffee run.  He passed the distracted paramedic in the doorway.  “Hey, John!”

Gage failed to acknowledge his fellow firefighter’s cheery greeting.

Lopez raised an eyebrow and continued on into the kitchen. “What’s up with him?  He hasn’t said a single word all morning.”

Mike glanced up from his book.  “I’m guessing he got dumped…again.” 

Marco headed for their coffee-maker. “He’s acting just like he was before he came down with double pneumonia.”

“Double pneumonia…Dumped. The symptoms are pretty much the same,” the engineer philosophically stated and returned to his reading.

Chet was seated on their leather sofa with Henry’s head resting in his lap, mindlessly scratching the happy mutt’s exposed belly.  “He got a ‘Dear John’ letter from Stacey.”

Marco remained mystified. “He hasn’t been seeing her long enough to get **seriously** involved.  Has he?”

“When we were in Michigan, this incredible chick came on to him with big bedroom eyes…practically begged him to ‘have his way with her’.   He turned her down cold.”

Mike and Marco exchanged sad, solemn glances.   

John’s involvement with Stacey had been **serious** all right—at least, on his part.

_______________________________________________________________

 Two hours later…The tones finally sounded.

“ **Station 51…Equestrian accident…Palmer Road…Approach Code 3…Palmer Road…One half mile east of the Forsythe Trail junction…Ambulance responding…Repeat: Approach Code 3…Time out: 13:40.** ”

“Station 51 KMG-365,” Captain Stanley acknowledged and passed his paramedics a copy of the call address. Hank climbed aboard Big Red.

Both trucks pulled out of the parking bay and went racing off down the street with their warning lights flashing and their sirens wailing.

______________________________________________________________________

Two miles from the scene both trucks’ obligingly went Code 3 and continued their approach without lights and sirens.

______________________________________________________________

Roy spotted the **Forsythe Hiking Trail and Bridle Path** NO MOTORIZED VEHICLES ALLOWED sign and slowed.

Stoker did the same.

Sure enough!  Just up ahead, a half dozen patrol cars had Palmer Road completely blocked off.

___________________________________________________________________

51’s trucks crawled to a stop and their occupants slowly disembarked.

A rider-less horse was standing in a tall patch of dead grass on the road’s right shoulder.

“There’s the equine,” Captain Stanley quietly remarked to the CHP officer that came stepping up to them.  “Where’s the equestrian?”

“On the ground…under the horse…with her foot caught in the stirrup,” the officer solemnly replied.

The new arrivals’ faces filled with alarm. 

“Has she been dragged?” John anxiously inquired.

The officer nodded. “Captain, how much rope do you guys carry?”

“You want to try and corral the horse?”

Another nod.

Hank and his men exchanged knowing glances. “We happen to have some experience with rope corrals,” he confidently confessed and turned to his crew.  “You all know what to do.  Only, this time, nix the gate.”

“Oh. And, Captain?”

Stanley glanced back over his shoulder.

“Who’s your best shot?  With a **rope**.  That animal is so spooked it won’t let anybody near it. ” The patrolman motioned to his fellow officers and their raised rifles.  “We don’t **want** to have to shoot the horse.  It could fall on the girl.  But we won’t let her be dragged any further, either.  She says her leg’s busted.”

“Gage, get a loop ready!”

John’s jaw dropped open upon hearing the order.  But the experienced ranch-hand didn’t protest.  Instead, he determined  he’d do his damnedest to try to save that poor girl’s horse.

__________________________________________________________

Less than three minutes later…

Captain Stanley and his human fence posts had slowly and carefully encircled the horse and its downed rider.  The firemen had kept their two-railed rope corral at a safe distance, to avoid frightening the already quaking and shaking with fear animal even further.

Gage gulped as his Captain nodded his helmeted head in his direction.  “What happens if I miss?” he quietly inquired of the nearest patrolman and adjusted the rope’s large, limp loop.  Oh.  How he wished he had his nice, stiff lariat instead!

“Then **we** ’ll have to try,” the officer with the rifle raised to his shoulder replied.  “And **we** won’t miss.”

Gage gulped again.  “If it doesn’t bolt, can I take a second shot?”

“Sure.  But we’re gonna stop that animal BEFORE it pulls her leg off.  So don’t get in our line of fire.”

Gage gulped a third time and reluctantly ducked between the rope rails.  The ex-ranch hand straightened up and started inching his way forward…ever so slowly.

The horse’s attention was now fully focused on the approaching fireman—and his rope.

The paramedic got to within fifteen feet of the girl but then stopped and stood there, listening.

“Easy, Skylark…easy, boy…Easy Skylark…easy, boy,” the horse’s rider soothingly repeated, pausing only to sniffle now and then.

John watched as the skittish animal grew calmer and calmer.

Eventually, its muscles stopped quivering and the look in its eyes turned to one of vague disinterest.  The horse bobbed its bridled head a few times, chomped leisurely on its bit and even lifted one of its hind legs.

Gage shifted the large, limp loop into his left hand and then slowly slipped the loop and coiled rope behind his back. “Easy, Skylark…easy, boy…Easy Skylark…easy, boy,” he soothingly chanted and began inching his way forward again.

Skylark’s large brown eyes grew even larger and its ears flicked forward.  But the animal remained completely at ease.

John stared down at the dangling reins, now just a few yards from his reach.

Skylark snorted and his muscled tensed in preparation for flight.

“Keep talking to him,” the girl urged her rescuer.  “Let him hear your voice so he knows you’re not a threat.”

“Easy, Skylark…easy, boy…Easy Skylark…easy, boy,” the paramedic repeated, continuing the calming mantra.  The girl sniffled again and he glanced down at her for the first time.

The fallen rider’s forehead was scraped and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

The girl caught his glance and propped herself up on her elbows. “Please!  Don’t let them shoot my horse, mister! Please!  It’s not **his** fault!  The motorcycles frightened him! Plus, none of this would have happened in the first place if I had just taken the time to change into my riding boots.  Oh, Skylark!  Please let him catch you!  Please don’t move, boy!” she desperately pleaded.  Then she dropped back down and began sobbing quietly.

“What’s your name?” John asked just for something to say besides ‘Easy Skylark, easy, boy.’

“Lee Ann Bergland.”

“Okay, Lee Ann, just lie still and keep talking to Skylark.  How old are you?”

“Almost 14.  Skylark’s almost 14, too.”

“Are you allergic to any medication?”

Lee Ann shook her head and kept right on talking to her horse.

“Are you on any medication?”

The girl gave her head another shake.

John was just a foot or two away from the reins now and he had to fight the urge to grab for them.

Skylark snorted and tossed his head, sending the dangling reins flying.

Gage snatched them in mid-air and dropped his rope so he could hang onto the horse with both hands.  “Good boy, Skylark,” he praised, following a long exhalation of profound relief.  The reins were transferred to his left hand and he used his freed right hand to unfasten the saddle’s girth.

His partner suddenly appeared, closely followed by their Captain.

John handed control of the reins off to his Captain so he could get a firm, two-fisted hold on the unfastened saddle.

Roy was kneeling beside the girl.  Both of his hands were supporting her broken leg.

“Okay, Cap.  On three, lead the horse forward.  One…two…three.”

Stanley led the horse out from under its saddle and Gage carefully lowered it to the ground while his partner continued to support Lee Ann’s busted leg.

John even more carefully freed the girl’s sneakered left foot from the saddle’s stirrup.

Lee Ann saw Skylark being led away and shrieked, but not in physical pain.  “Skylark?!  Where are they taking him?  Skylark?! Please don’t let them shoot my horse!” she pitifully pleaded.

Gage gave the once again sobbing girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze.  “Hey…don’t worry.  They’re not about to shoot the best darn horse in the whole entire county!”

The girl heard the paramedic’s promise and somehow managed to muster up a smile.

Roy saw his buddy smile back, his partner’s first genuine smile since the start of the shift.

Suddenly, Miss Bergland’s face blanched and she bit her bottom lip.  “My leg hurts really REALLY bad!”

“Don’t worry about that, either,” John urged as the girl tightened her grip on his hand.  “As soon as the officers get your parent’s permission to treat you, the doctor will order something for the pain.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

___________________________________________

Half an hour later, in Rampart General’s ER…

“How is she, Doc?” John anxiously inquired as Kel Brackett stepped out of Treatment 3.

Kel grinned.  “She wants to know if we can give her a _riding_ cast.  Right now, she seems more concerned about her horse than that busted leg of hers.”

“I hear yah,” Gage relievedly replied.  “She was so busy worrying about Skylark she didn’t even realize her leg was hurting.  I tell yah, it’s **amazing** how ‘distracted’ some people can get.”

DeSoto had to purse his lips to keep from smiling.  “Yes.  It certainly is.  _Absolutely_ **amazing**.”  The now wryly grinning paramedic picked up their backboard and began heading for the exit, secretly hoping for a very ‘distracting’ shift.

His partner picked the remaining pieces of their equipment up and hurried off down the hall to catch up with him.  “See yah later, Doc!”

“I’m sure you will,” Brackett mumbled beneath his breath.  He gave both firemen’s backs a slight smile and returned to work.  ‘A **riding** cast?’

**TBC**


	9. Chapter Nine

**“If Wishes Were Horses”**

**Chapter Nine**

In the sleeping quarters at around two the next morning…

Roy rolled over and noticed his partner’s bunk was vacant. 

___________________________________________

Five minutes later, the bed was still empty.

Roy slipped into the bottom half of his bunkers and went off in search of the bunk’s missing occupant.

___________________________________________

In the parking lot behind Station 51…

John Gage was seated in his Land Rover surfing through the music stations on his radio. 

The vehicle’s front doors and the Station’s back door were wide open to enable him to hear the tones and to create a cross-breeze.

“ _I really learned a lot, really learned a lot_

_Love is like a flame, it burns you when it's hot_

_Love hurts –_ ”

“—You got that right!” John bitterly interrupted and quickly turned the dial.

_“ –Maybe you can tell me how a love so right can turn out to be so wrong_ _Oh my darlin’_

_Where did she go when I need her close to me_

_And the perfect story ended at the start_

_I thought you came forever and you came to break my heart—”_

Gage gave up his search for a non-heartache song and flicked the blasted radio off. 

A solitary figure suddenly appeared in the Station’s back doorway.

His buddy exited the brick building and stepped up to his open passenger door.  “Nice night.  Mind if I join you?”

Johnny pretended to brush the dust off the passenger seat and Roy slipped in beside him.

_______________________________________________

“Sometimes it helps to talk,” his friend offered, following several minutes of awkward silence.

“I feel like such a fool,” John quietly began, staring sadly down at his dashboard.  “I’m so mad at myself, I may never speak to me again.  And, all that time, I thought she wanted to be with me cuz she liked me.  She must a’ just been feeling sorry for me.  Why did I have to go and break my promise?  But, what I felt wasn’t pity.  She’d probably still like me if I was still sick.  I mean, she’d prob’ly still be feeling sorry for me.  I feel like such a fool. Of course, she was a great actress.  I’ve got to give her that much.  Why did I have to go and break my promise?  No explanation…nothin’.  Oh well…I promise I’ll never break my promise AGAIN.”

“What promise?”

“I promised myself I’d never get emotionally involved with someone I barely knew, and I blew it.  Nazareth has it right.  Love **is** like a fire.  The closer you get, the worse you get burned.”

“Sounds like you’ve been burned pretty bad.”

“Bad enough to know I never wanna get burned again.”

“Why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

“No thanks.  I feel like a big enough fool already.  Besides, she doesn’t wanna talk to me and she won’t let me talk to her.  When I tried, she threatened to call the cops.  She doesn’t even care enough to explain why she won’t talk to me.  In fact, she hates me.  What I can’t figure out is WHY she hates me…”

“Want **me** to ask her?”

“No!  I’m just gonna forget her.  Completely **drown** her memory from my mind.  Poof!  I don’t care why she hates me.  I don’t care why I don’t even deserve an explanation.  I should just be glad it’s finished.”

“Is it?  Finished?”

“Yes!  I mean, no.  In order for something to be finished it has to get started in the first place.  I feel like such a fool.”

There followed another long, much more comfortable silence.

____________________________________________________ 

Johnny finally directed his gaze at his friend and flashed him a grateful grin.  “You were right.  I do feel better.  Not a whole lot better.  But a little bit better.”

Roy returned his grin.  “C’mon.  Let’s go get some sleep.”

The moment the word sleep escaped his lips, the claxons sounded summoning the now sleepy pair on a run.

______________________________________________________________________

Speaking of running…

John ran up to the dorm’s open doorway.  “We got it, Cap!”

________________________________________________________

“ **Squad 51…man down…unknown cause…Barney’s Place…112 North 3 rd …cross streets 2nd and Slater…ambulance responding…one-twelve North 3rd …Time out: 2:23**”

______________________________________________________________

Roy ran up to the call station.  “Squad 51.  KMG-365,” he acknowledged and then piled in behind the wheel, passing the address slip on to his navigator along the way.

“ _Barney’s Place?_ ” Johnny repeated.  “Hang a right.”

The garage door finished grinding open.

Roy pulled out onto the street-ramp and then hung a right.

The Squad went wailing off into the night with its warning lights flashing.

________________________________________________

Barney’s Place…six minutes later…

The Squad’s siren was silenced but its warning lights were left on.  The paramedics grabbed their gear and entered the run down bar.

______________________________________________________

Where they were greeted by an unpleasant-smelling wall of smoke—for the second time that shift.   A pained look passed between the pair as even more unsavory odors began to assault their nostrils.

The thick haze of cigarette smoke did nothing to enhance the bar’s already ridiculously dim lighting.

The sleazy place’s dozen or so patrons seemed oblivious to both them and the body lying in the middle of the room.

“Unknown cause, my ass,” Roy said in an aside to his associate.

Even from a distance, and through the extreme dimness, it was clearly evident that the motionless man on the floor’s jaw had either been dislocated or broken.

Alarm bells began going off in the rescuers’ heads.

Roy turned to face the bartender.  “Have the police been called?”

“No need.  We got no trouble here.”

Roy gave the guy a disgusted glare.  A blow forceful enough to break a man’s jaw could also cause cervical spine damage.  “Better get the backboard.  I’ll call for backup.”

“Right.”  John set his equipment cases down and quickly took his leave.

Roy put in the request for police backup.  He re-clipped their radio to his belt and was just about to begin his IPS when a buxom red-head came staggering up and stooped beside him—close enough to be in the way.

“Iamsoooooooooooooosorry,” the woman slurred.  “Is hegonnabe okay?”

“Mam, you’re gonna have to get back and give us some room to work here,” Roy ordered none too politely. 

But the bombed broad didn’t budge.

So Roy took the woman by the arms and helped her to her unsteady feet.  He then pointed her in the direction of her vacated bar stool and gave her a gentle nudge.

“Keep your grubby paws **off** of my wife!” a man’s menacing voice suddenly boomed from directly behind him.

Roy felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and he was spun, rather forcefully, around.  Before he could take evasive action, the hand’s vice-like grip was transferred from his left shoulder to the collar of his T-shirt and he was picked practically clean up off of his bunker-booted feet.  “I’m sorry,” he squeaked as he was pulled right up to his assailant’s anger-filled face.  “Honest,” he continued to croak, wincing at the big brute’s whiskey breath.  “I didn’t know she was your wife.  I apologize.  It will never happen again.  Now, please, just put me down so I can get back to work.”

“You leave my wife alone!  You hear?” the two hundred and eighty pound six foot four behemoth literally belched and added a few brain-jarring shakes for emphasis.

‘I heard you but apparently you didn’t hear me,’ Roy regrettably realized.  “Yes, sir!  Understood, sir.  Now, can I please just get back to work?”

 Johnny re-entered the bar just then, saw his partner’s predicament and shouted, “Hey!  Leave him alone!” 

Instead, the big—still not listening—dude drew his right arm back and formed his hand into a fist.

John dropped the backboard and raced across the room to render Roy his assistance.  “Leave. Him. Alone!” he re-shouted through gritted teeth and grabbed the guy’s cocked arm.   His timely intervention prevented the goon from planting his **right** fist into his friend’s face.  Unfortunately, it didn’t stop the big man from releasing Roy’s T-shirt and planting his **left** fist into his own.   The blow was delivered with so much force it sent the fireman reeling—backwards—clear across the barroom, where he proceeded to crash into a couple of  cops.

The officers, who had entered the bar just in time to witness the assault, caught the assailant’s victim under his flailing arms.  The paramedic was then lowered quickly and carefully to the floor, so that they could withdraw their weapons from their holsters.

When it came to dealing with unruly drunks, drawn guns spoke a lot louder than the voice of reason.

The seemingly deaf dude immediately got the message and raised his powerful arms—fists still clenched— in surrender.

Roy reached his downed partner’s side in seconds. “Johnny!  You okay?”

“Yeah,” John assured his anxious amigo as Roy’s worry-filled face passed before him for the fourth time.  “Help me up.”

“Look, you just **stay put** —for now.”

“I will…if you will,” Gage groggily replied.

**TBC**

 AN: 

Lyrics to first song “Love Hurts” by Nazareth.

Lyrics to second song “Love So Right” by The Bee Gees

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**“If Wishes Were Horses”**

**Chapter Ten**

 

Rampart General Emergency Receiving thirty minutes later…

John followed one of 36’s paramedics, and their broken-jaw victim’s stretcher, into Treatment Four.  He passed the patient’s IV bag off to one of the nurses and then stepped out of the way.

Capadelli transferred the patient’s oxygen flow over to the hospital’s.  “Need me for anything more, Doc?”

 

The Doc’ shook his head.

The medic from 36’s gathered up the portable O2 cylinder and began heading for the door.

“See yah, Neil.  Thanks, hey?”

“I _hope_ you’ll be **seein** ’ me,” Capadelli replied.  “Take care of that eye, John,” he added with a wave.

Dr. Tyler caught the departing fireman’s comment and glanced at the remaining paramedic. 

John Gage was standing with his back against the wall holding an ice pack over his right eye. 

“What happened to you?”

“The same thing that happened to him,” Gage glumly replied.  “Only, mine happened in a different spot,” he bitterly added and lowered the ice pack.

“Sheesh!” Tyler exclaimed.  “You’re gonna have yourself a real beaut’!  I can tell from here **that** is gonna require a trip to X-Ray.  Steffie, find this guy a wheelchair.”

Steffanie nodded and left the room.

The fireman’s frown deepened.  “I could just _walk_ over there.”

“I don’t want you _walking_ anywhere until after I examine you.”

The nurse came backing into the room with the requested wheelchair and John reluctantly placed his behind into it.

“Take him to X-Ray…I’ll phone the order over…and then put him in Three,” the doctor further requested.  “I should be there in just a bit.”

“Yes, Dr.”

________________________________________________

Treatment Room Three…One hour…One complete skull series…One very thorough eye exam and several neuro exams later…

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” Roy lightly inquired.  “Will he ever be able to wink again?”

“No signs of a concussion…No fractures to the socket…No damage to the eye, itself.  The cheekbone seems to have absorbed most of the impact.  It’s very badly bruised,” Tyler informed the fireman seated on the exam table.  “Your partner is going to have one hell of a shiner!” he further informed the fireman standing at his side.

“Yeah.  I know,” Roy solemnly acknowledged.  “And, I’d be the one wearing it, if it wasn’t for him.  Thanks, partner!”

“Don’t thank me.  We’d probably both be candidates for traction if the cavalry hadn’t a’ shown up.  Barney should a’ called the **police** BEFORE calling **us**.”

“No need,” his partner sarcastically parroted.  “They had no trouble there.”

Gage gave his friend a look that told him he appreciated the sarcasm.

Tyler glanced at his watch.  “You guys got a little under four hours to go.  You want me to send you home?  Or clear you for duty?”

“I’d like to finish out the shift.”

“Done.  Keep applying the ice.  If the swelling doesn’t go down in a few hours, or if it gets worse, **you** _get back in here_.”  Tyler turned to leave but then paused to pass along one last bit of advice.  “You should a’ ducked.”  With that, and a sympathetic smile, the doctor disappeared.

“I should a’ _whacked him over the head with the backboard_ ,” Gage only half-jokingly grumbled back. “That’s what I **should** a’ done.”

Seeing how miserable his already miserable-feeling friend felt, DeSoto was inclined to agree.

_______________________________________________

Station 51’s rec’ room…forty-five minutes later…

John dropped his pillow and blanket onto their leather sofa and set the bottom half of his bunkers up on the floor beside it.  He had tried sleeping in the dorm, but every time his arm or his pillow would connect with his bruised cheekbone, he would emit an involuntary groan…and his groaning was disturbing the other guys’ sleep.  He back-tracked over to the doorway and snatched Henry’s leash from off its hook.  He connected the leash to Henry’s collar and then used it to drag their couch hog of a dog off of the sofa and over to his doggy bed.  He draped the leash’s wrist loop over the knob on the door to the alley and made sure Henry’s food and water dishes were full.  He gave the unhappy looking hound’s head a few consoling pats before crossing back over to the couch and sprawling out on its cushions.

Henry tossed his head back and cut loose with a mournful howl—an extremely LOUD mournful howl, “AAAARRRRUUUUUUUUUUUGH!”

Gage sprang up off the sofa and went dashing back into the kitchen.  Sheesh!  Henry’s _howling_ was worse than his _groaning_.  He freed the leash from the doorknob.  “Okay.  You win.  We’ll share.”  John dropped the leash and went racing back over to the couch before Henry had the chance to hog all its cushions.

____________________________________________

At 0700 hours, the Station’s wake up tones sounded.

Slowly, the dorm began to empty, the only sound being the swishing of its former occupants’ bunker pants as they trudged across the garage en route to their kitchen and some much needed coffee.  A bottle-neck began to form in the Day Room’s doorway.

“Anybody seen Johnny?” Roy inquired as he came stepping up.

Marco pressed a finger to his lips, “Shhhh.”  He then used the same finger to point into the rec’ room.

Roy squeezed past Mike and Chet and peered around the corner of the doorway.

His partner was sprawled out, face down, on their sofa—the **left** side of his face being down—and with the entire right side of his body hanging off the edge of its cushions. 

Henry was sprawled out beside him with his head resting on John’s back.  The dog spotted the men in the doorway and began wagging his tail.  His jaws opened in a big doggy yawn which was closely followed by an even bigger stretch of his cramped, stiff legs.

That was all it took to send the already precariously perched paramedic tumbling onto the floor. 

“You okay?” Roy wondered as he came running up to him.

The falling fireman had managed to land on all fours. “Yeah.” He aimed an irritated glare in the dog’s direction and was promptly licked—right on the mouth.  He swiped his tightly pursed lips with the back of his hand. “Man, you are such a couch hog!  Oh well.  At least you don’t snore,” he added as Henry gave the left side of his face another slobbery doggy kiss.

Roy pulled his partner to his feet.

And John pulled on his bunkers.

“That’s the kind a’ night I wish we could have every shift,” the Captain proclaimed as he came into the room carrying their open log book.  “Only one call after mid—” his mouth quit working as he caught sight of Gage’s shiner.  “Good grief, pal!  No wonder you were groaning.  Was that compliments of _Barney’s Place_?”

Gage nodded.  “What a dive!”

__________________________________________

The locker room...less than an hour later…

The men from A-Shift were standing in front of their open lockers, changing into their street clothes.

“Why don’t you come over for breakfast?” Roy invited.  “I’m sure Joann would love to see that eye.”

John flashed his companionable friend a grateful grin.  “Thanks for the offer but I’ll survive.  I mean, it’s not like **this** is the first time I’ve ever been _dumped_.”  He gave his Smokey Bear poster a couple of affectionate taps.  Then he closed his locker and quickly took his leave.

‘Good ole Smokey…’  Roy was the only one at the Station, besides Johnny, that knew the real reason his partner kept the poster pinned up in his locker. 

On occasion, the bachelor would allow himself to become emotionally involved with a girl only to end up being _dumped_.  

 

Smokey’s **Rules for Extinguishing a Campfire** reminded Johnny to be sure to extinguish the flames of passion that he had allowed himself to ignite in his heart.

_________________________________________

_Smokey’s Rules for Extinguishing a Campfire:_

  1. _Drown the embers completely._
  2. _Stir and drown again._
  3. _Make sure the ashes are COLD. Drown ALL embers, not just the glowing ones._
  4. _Continue to stir and drown until the fire is out cold._
  5. _If no water is available, bury the embers. Make sure that no embers are exposed and still smoldering._
  6. _If the ashes are too hot to touch, the fire is too hot to leave!_



_Remember:  Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires._

___________________________________________

‘Smokey’ll see him through this,’ Roy told himself.  ‘He always has before.’

Then again, maybe Smokey could use a little help **this** time.

DeSoto decided to swing by headquarters on his way home.

__________________________________________________________

John stumbled into his bedroom, stripping along the way.  He fell back onto his bed and was asleep in seconds.

__________________________________________________

Gage groaned as his front door’s buzzer sounded.

The ‘Day Sleeper’ jerked completely awake and squinted at his alarm clock.  “FIVE minutes?!” he angrily declared.  “A measley FIVE minutes?!”

The buzzer sounded again.

“Go away,” he sleepily ordered.

But the door disturbance did not go away.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” he grumbled and finally mustered up the energy to climb back out of bed. 

He yanked a robe on and then went stomping off to deal with the rude intruder.

____________________________________________________  

“Can’t you read?!” he demanded as the portal was unlocked and jerked open.

“Yes,” his visitor replied.  “I can read.”

Gage just stood there in shock, staring disbelievingly up at the LACFD’s Chief Engineer.  “Uhhh…sorry, Sir.”  He was really going to have to **stop** answering his door that way.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, John,” William Jenner assured him.  “I didn’t intend to disturb your sleep, but this was the only way I could think of to talk to you where we wouldn’t be interrupted.”  The Fire Chief flashed the off-duty paramedic a friendly smile and then stood there…waiting.

Gage gulped.  “Uhhh…won’t you come in.”

Jenner did.

John closed the door and followed his surprise visitor down the hall and into his living room.  “Please, sit down, Sir.”

Jenner took a seat and motioned for Gage to do the same.  “There’s no need to be so formal, John.  I’m not here on official F.D. business.  This is purely a social call and—while I’m here—I want you to try to think of me as just another guy.”

John sank stiffly onto his sofa.  ‘Like a private in the army trying to think of a five-star general as ‘just another soldier’.’  “Yes, Sir…I mean, yes…I’ll try.”

The two ‘guys’ just sat there for awhile, studying the pattern of his living room’s rug.

“Would you care for something to drink?” Gage finally inquired in an attempt to break the insufferable silence.

The Chief shook his head.

John noticed that Jenner seemed to be almost as nervous as he was and un-tensed a bit.

“John—?”

“—Yes?”

Jenner smiled.  “John, I suspect you know why I’m here.  I mean, it isn’t everyday a department chief drops in on you.”

“No.  No.  It certainly isn’t.”

“I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for the fact that Stacy is almost like a daughter to me, and so, I feel I have the rights of a father in coming to you to discuss something of a personal nature.  Son, I hope the fact that I’m Stacy’s **uncle** had nothing to do with your…”

“No.  No, I’m sure that had nothing to do with our….”  At least, John didn’t think it did.

Jenner exhaled an audible sigh of relief.  “Would you mind telling me what did?”

The young firefighter’s face suddenly filled with an unbearable sadness.  “Tell me…and we’ll both know,” he smartly replied.

“You honestly don’t know?”

“I honestly don’t.  If I did, believe me, I’d go back and un-do it.”

The Chief was suddenly more than a little saddened, himself.  “I see.  Then your…was all **her** idea,” he realized.

“Why didn’t you just ask her about…it?”

“Stacy refuses to speak about…it, even with my wife, and she won’t accept my phone calls.”

“Welcome to my world.”

Jenner gave the hurting young man a look of deep sympathy and started rising stiffly to his feet.  “Well, John, I’d better go so you can get back to sleep.”

John rose and escorted his unexpected guest back up to his front door.

Before exiting, Jenner turned and extended a hand.  “If the two of you ever get things ‘ironed out’, I just want you to know that I’d be proud to have you for an ‘almost’ son-in-law.”

John overcame his amazement and then took and shook Stacy’s Uncle’s hand.   “Thank you, Sir.  I’d consider it an honor.”

The two ‘guys’ exchanged a pair of extremely sad smiles.

The Chief Engineer forced himself to cheer back up.  “By the way,” he motioned to the young fireman’s black eye, “nice shiner.  Is there a story behind that?”

Gage couldn’t help but grin.  ‘He is just another guy…a nice guy.’   “Thanks.  The story starts like this: A paramedic walks into a bar…”

Jenner matched his host’s grin. 

And, with that, LACFD’s Chief Engineer took his leave.

John re-locked his front door.  Then he gave his head a few shakes and returned to his waiting bed.

______________________________________________________

But sleep didn’t come to him as easily as it had the first time. 

‘Stir and drown again…Stir and drown again…’

**TBC**

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

****

**“If Wishes Were Horses”**

**Chapter Eleven**

Roy DeSoto pulled his little yellow sports car up to the entrance to the LACFD Headquarters parking lot. 

There were no itty bitty white vehicles visible in the lot, so he knew he had beaten Miss Ferrel there.

________________________________________________

Fifteen minutes of waiting later, the little white car appeared.

Roy followed it onto the lot and pulled his Porshe in right beside it.  He got out and stepped up to the girl’s open car window.

Miss Ferrel glared icily up at him.  “Did **he** send you here?” she inquired, sounding every bit as icy as her glare.

“No.  In fact, he must never know that I came here.” 

“You’re wasting your breath.  I do NOT want to talk about _John Gage_.”

“Why not?”

“Why don’t you go ask his girlfriend?”

“I thought I was.”

“His OTHER girlfriend!”

“Some of his friends are girls.  But he only had one girlfriend.  You.”

Stacey rolled her eyes. The poor paramedic was apparently clueless.  “Look, I don’t wish to discuss this any furth—”

“—Just tell me why you won’t talk to him.  He can’t under—”

“—No!  Now, will you please step back and let me out?”

“Then he’s **right**.  You’ve never felt anything but pity for him.  You _never_ **really** cared.”

Stacy’s clenched jaw quivered and tears began streaming silently down her cheeks.  “He thinks I _never_ **really** cared?! **He thinks I never really cared?!** ” she shouted, loud enough to turn a few other heads in the lot.  “Do **all** of his ‘female friends’ get a key to his apartment?  Or just the ones that ‘put out’?!”

“Who has a key to his apartment?”

“I didn’t hang around long enough to get acquainted!”

Besides his landlady, there was only one other female with a key to—.  Suddenly, all the puzzling pieces began falling into place.  “You went over to John’s apartment the other day and a woman answered the door.  Right?”

“In her **nightie**!”

“Right.  In her _nightie_ …It’s a shame you ‘ _didn’t hang around long enough to get acquainted_ ’.  Her name is Julie Ann…Julie Ann GAGE.  She’s Johnny’s older sister.”

Stacey was glad she was sitting down because she was certain all the blood had just rushed out of her head.  She recalled seeing the name _Julie Ann Gage_ listed as next of kin in John’s file.  ‘Oh…Gawd…What have I done?’

“She’s a stewardess for TWA and, whenever she gets a flight into LAX, she crashes at his place.  It’s his idea.  He says it’s the only chance they have to see each other these days.  The two of them are pretty close.”

Stacey draped her folded arms over the steering wheel, buried her face into them and began sobbing—uncontrollably.  “I really blew it!” she exclaimed between sniffles.  “I could live with it as long as it was HIS fault!  He’ll never speak to me again!  I really hurt him, didn’t I!” She aimed her blurry gaze up at John’s best friend, saw his sad nod and began bawling all over again.  “I only hurt _him_ because **he** hurt me—because I THOUGHT he was hurting me! Ohhhh…” she groaned between sobs, “Bonnie was right again!  I never should have listened to all that gossip!  I…I—”

“—Feel like a fool?” Roy volunteered.

The girl nodded and continued to sob her heart out.  “I ruined everything!  He must really hate me now!  And it’s all MY fault!”

“Hey, if he hates you, he should be glad you won’t see him anymore.  Right?  He should be glad to be rid of you.”

She glanced blurrily up at him, looking thoughtful.

“I’ve never seen him more miserable.”

“Really?!” she queried hopefully, but then began sobbing harder than ever.  “Ohhhhh…I made him miserable!  I am sooooooo sorry!”

“Maybe you should tell **him** that.”

“Do you really think he’d **listen** , after the horrible way I treated him?”

“He’ll listen, all right.  We just need to figure out a way to make him listen.  It’s for his own good.”

She sniffled and managed a bittersweet smile.  “John is very fortunate to have a friend like you.”

Roy returned the girl’s sad smile.  “Yeah.  I know.  I’m constantly reminding him of that.  Look, I gotta run.  My wife’s probably wondering what happened to me.  Give me a call later on.”  He didn’t bother to give the young woman his phone number.  After all she did work in the personnel department.

“Thanks, Mr. DeSoto!”

“It’s Roy.  And, you’re welcome.  Remember, I was never here and we never had this little conversation.”

Miss Ferrel nodded.  She watched the paramedic leave the lot.  Then she buried her tear-streaked face back into her arms and started crying all over again. 

_________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes later…

Roy had just finished explaining his late arrival and the whole Johnny/Stacey fiasco to his wife. 

“So, you see?  It was all just a terrible misunderstanding.  And, I’d like to invite the two of them here to see if they can sort things out.”

“You can’t be serious!  After what that woman just put Johnny through?  You actually expect me to welcome her into our home?  I don’t care how _terrible_ the _misunderstanding_ was, there’s NO excuse for the **rotten** way she treated him!”

Her husband batted his big blue eyes a few times and flashed her his most persuasive grin.

Joann had to purse her lips to keep from smiling.  “All I can say is, she’d better keep her distance. Cuz, if she comes within reach, I swear I’ll be sorely tempted to _slap that woman silly_!”

Roy was amused to no end.  ‘Johnny had Smokey Bear **and** Mama Bear in his corner.’ 

Wait…Did that make **him** Papa Bear?  Guess that would make Gage their cub.

As if on cue, the kitchen’s wall phone began to ring.

‘And _that_ must be Goldilocks,’ Roy bemusedly reasoned. The fireman gave his feisty wife a grateful hug and headed off to see if he could set some sort of a reconciliation in motion.

__________________________________________________________

Following Stacey’s Uncle’s visit, Johnny had been unable to get back to sleep. 

So he got up and stumbled into his bathroom.  He stared at his mustached reflection in the medicine chest’s mirror for a few moments. Every time he looked at his hairy upper lip, he was reminded of Stacey. 

‘ _Make sure that no embers are exposed and still smoldering_.’

He opened the little cabinet and removed his razor.

_______________________________________________

Following his close shave, John showered and dressed and then set about removing the last vestiges of the young lady’s memory from his apartment. 

‘ _Bury the embers_.’

The developed photos he’d taken of her, as well as all the negatives, were pitched into the trash—along with the notebook containing the other poems he’d written for her. 

The trash was then hauled out to the dumpster. 

________________________________________

Immediately after breakfast, the off-duty for four days fireman began loading his camping gear into the back of his Rover. 

‘ _Drown ALL embers, not just the glowing ones_.’

He was gonna head for the ‘tall and uncut’—the **extremely** _tall_ and uncut. 

The photographer was hoping to add some Giant Redwood silhouette shots to his collection and he knew the perfect spot to capture his photos—the Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. 

He left a note, telling Roy where he was gonna be and when he expected to be back, and then headed due east on his 255 mile and 2 hour and 45 minute drive to Paradise, leaving all the stress, and the noise and air pollution, far behind him.

**TBC**


End file.
